you wouldn't know (but i've been in the dark)
by finaljoy
Summary: Wesley prided himself on being a man that managed any catastrophe. And even if he didn't so much manage Tony Stark as fix his messes, he did a hell of a lot better than the average man. (five times wesley fixed things for tony and one time he did not, wesley is tony's fixer au)
1. terrorists

_AN James Wesley, how do I love thee? Let me number the ways. But in all seriousness this story was a horrible, horrible idea because it just smashed my love for Tony Stark and my love for James Wesley together into an unhealthy pile and I don't know if I'll ever be the same._

 _Thanks to Bess for helping me edit this!_

* * *

 **i.**

Wesley prided himself on being a man that could manage any catastrophe. Smear campaigns and leaked sex tapes and threats of corporate espionage were all swept aside with the same unerring surety, carving out deep warning to anyone that attempted to dissemble the Stark empire.

But terrorist attacks left him _useless._

Pepper was the one that received the official call from Lt. Colonel Rhodes. She was Tony's executive assistant, the only thing that could have been labeled as 'close' to Tony Stark. Rhodes at least realized that Tony's connection with his assistant was far more candid than that of his mentor, Obadiah Stane. That way, Wesley was informed of the kidnap for personal reasons and not for the purpose of handling the situation.

Pepper looked terrified and distraught as she whispered the news. She didn't seem to mind Wesley bracing himself against the desk and not having anything to say.

The world didn't know what to think. Some flocked together, condemning the gall of the extremists and demanding instant and brutal response, while others gave Stark Industries a pitying pat on the back as they cleaned their hands of a now leaderless company.

Wesley kept things together. He smiled as he charmed supporters, menaced dissenters, and carefully condemned extremist factions and not the states they resided in. He directed every effort to retrieve Tony Stark and offered a comforting arm around Pepper's shoulders when she privately burst into tears, because she had allowed him his moment of grief without comment.

He kept things together because that was his job.

And then, impossibly, Tony appeared in the desert and was scooped up by the US Armed Forces. Pepper actually shrieked in shocked delight and flung the folder she was holding when Rhodes sent word. Wesley let out the pained breath he had dragged in three months prior.

Because, of course, if anyone would have escaped, it would have been him.

Tony looked good when he came off the plane, all things considered. Still, Rhodes stayed close, protective as he helped Tony to the tarmac. He supported all of Tony's weight and pointed out an uneven patch on the ramp. Tony seemed so fragile.

Then he scoffed at the proffered gurney and instantly he was the same willful character as always, sauntering to where Wesley and Pepper were standing. His suit was pressed, face scratched, arm in a sling. His swagger seemed almost brittle.

He stopped before them, almost standoffish in his scrutiny.

"Your eyes are red," he told Pepper. "Few tears for your long lost boss?"

"Tears of joy. I hate job hunting," she said, the slightest smile on her face.

"And you, carved out of stone like always," Tony said, patting Wesley's chest. Wesley allowed a smile of his own as Tony moved past. He noticed the way the touch lingered, like Tony was making sure that he was real.

They were all very good at pretending, the three of them.

Wesley was already tapping in new items on his to do list as they walked to the car. He half listened to Tony and Pepper's conversation after they got in, sifting through the things that had changed in importance now that he had seen Tony.

 _Proper psych eval (Laurence)_

 _Fly Reina in for housekeeping_

 _Cancel meeting with NBC_

 _Arrange interview with PBS (NPR also acceptable)_

He looked up when he heard the words 'press conference'.

"Press conference? What on earth for?" Pepper asked, more than a little alarmed. She cast a look at Wesley, begging him to intervene.

"Mr. Stark, might I ask what _exactly_ you're planning on telling these reporters?" he asked as the car eased away. Tony glanced at him, but didn't seem to have the will for a snarky comment. The exhaustion in his eyes was enough to take Wesley by surprise, but it was the _darkness_ in them that made his stomach tighten.

"There are just some things I need to say to the world, okay?"

Wesley grimaced, already coming up with justifications and excuses for demands for war, insults to Middle Eastern countries, vilifications to the Armed Forced for not keeping Tony safe. But it was the quiet tone Tony used that made Wesley nod. Tony was not seeking permission, but he was asking for help. He didn't do that often. Pepper looked unhappy, but she must have heard the fragility in Tony's voice, too.

Wesley regretted his decision when he heard Tony Stark declare that his company was no longer making weapons. Obadiah immediately leaped up to do damage control while Tony swept off the stage. Wesley worked his jaw, then turned to fall into step behind his employer. Tony must have sensed the steely anger coming from Wesley, because he did not answer any of the questions reporters flung at him.

"Are you mad? You're mad."

Wesley continued staring out of the conference room. They hadn't spoken since the interview. He had been too busy trying to think his way out of this mess.

"Look, Wesley, I couldn't let this go on. My weapons were being used on innocent people, and—better everyone know at once."

Wesley couldn't stop himself. He snapped his head around to shoot Tony a filthy look.

"I _asked_ you to tell me what you were going to say. I wanted to _avoid_ something exactly like this."

"You aren't going to change my mind," Tony said quietly. Wesley kept from working his jaw. Barely.

"I could have counseled you on how to present it! My purpose is to _prevent_ situations like this from occurring."

"Wesley, I'm not taking it back. _Terrorists_ had my weapons. They killed the people meant to protect me. They had my weapons. I'm not taking it back." The hard determination in Tony's eyes spoke of much darker days. Wesley didn't look away from him, but he became very aware of the subtle glow from beneath his shirt.

"I would never dream of having you do that, Mr. Stark," he said, just as deadly serious. He gave a polite nod, and fell back a step. "If you'll excuse me, I have a few thousand fires to put out."

* * *

" _James,"_ Obadiah said, ushering Wesley into his office. Wesley didn't like when Obadiah used his first name. It usually went along with trying to coerce him into doing something. _Wesley_ was the one that coerced. Not the other way around. "Just the person I wanted to see."

"Mr. Stane, how might I be of assistance?"

"Straight to business, no small talk?"

"I have a meeting with PR, then CNN."

"Right. They want the inside scoop on Tony?"

"It didn't help that you alluded to him having some sort of mental trauma from his time captive."

"Clearly he _does,_ though," Stane said gruffly, the charming veneer dropping for a moment. "That stunt he pulled…but it's normal for people to have a backlash after something like that."

Wesley knew that. In addition to punching his way through the media nightmare Tony had created, personally calling Reina (Tony's last nanny), and arranging for her to come tend to Tony while he recovered, _and_ keeping close tabs on Tony, Wesley had read up on responses to traumatic events. He probably knew more than Obadiah acted like he knew.

"But that's why I wanted to talk to you," he said, turning around with a tired smile once again in place. "I need you to talk to Tony. He won't listen to me, no matter what I say. I know this whole thing messed him up, and he's got to be spooked about weapons after those lunatics…anyway, please, James, talk to him. This will pass after a few months, then business as usual for him. Don't let Tony ruin all of this before he evens out."

Wesley's duties were to solve and prevent problems for Tony Stark. Most often, it meant cleaning his image, providing damage control. So far, that had meant protecting the company's interests as well. But as far as Wesley could see, a company with the power and money and influence to switch over from weapons to clean energy was far less pressing than a man struggling and without a single soul to find comfort in.

"Yes, sir," Wesley said, giving Obadiah a smooth smile. "I will talk to Mr. Stark."

The smile dropped from his face before he left the office.

* * *

"JARVIS, please pull up Mr. Stark's agenda for the week," Wesley told his phone. He sat in front of his computer, reviewing the files Rhodes had sent him on Tony's rescue, now that they had been cleared by a myriad of government agencies.

"Of course, sir," he responded. Wesley kept his attention on his computer as he waited for the schedule.

Tony had been found in the desert, walking around by himself. They had only discovered him because the area had been flagged for terrorist activity and had lit up for no explanation. The only irregularity was that Tony had been found far outside of the predicted walking distance—

"Sir, it does not seem that Ms. Potts has scheduled anything of importance for the week."

"What?"

Wesley sat back from his computer, frowning as he checked the screen for himself. It was hauntingly bare, consisting only of basic appointments with Tony's physical trainer and Reina's daily check in at the mansion. Pepper's schedule lay beside it, her event tiles a neat orange stack next to Tony's sparse green ones. Hers mirrored Wesley's own schedule; meetings with board members, clients, prestigious (and more importantly, _friendly_ ) reporters, heads of departments.

He scrolled down to the next month and found that Tony was tentatively scheduled for a meeting with some government agent. Most of the government agencies had fallen away after the first week of Tony being recovered. Maybe this Agent Coulson was just slow on the uptake. Very, very slow.

"JARVIS, did I receive anything from Ms. Potts or Mr. Stark saying that they were reducing his schedule?"

"Not that I'm aware of, sir."

Wesley considered a moment, then gave a long sigh through his nose.

"JARVIS, please call Ms. Potts."

"Yes, sir," JARVIS replied, and in a few moments, Pepper was on the phone.

"He didn't want to do anything," she said after Wesley asked. "I told him what that would mean, but he said…he said that Obadiah advised him to 'lay low'."

"That sounds…most inconvenient."

"Tell me about it," Pepper sighed.

"Is he making a point because we didn't support his motion to stop weapon production?"

"I…don't know. Whenever I stop by, he's busy with _something,_ so I'm hoping it is. Once he's done with the latest project or sulking, which ever happens first, then we'll find out."

"Thank you, Ms. Potts," Wesley said, then hung up. He took off his glasses and tapped one of the arms against his chin.

Tony sulking was not a good thing, for anyone.

* * *

Wesley pulled into the driveway of the Stark Mansion, noting Obadiah's Bentley already situated near the front. He walked into the mansion, giving Pepper a nod as she appeared from the kitchen. Obadiah was playing on the piano.

"I'm glad you're here," she whispered to Wesley.

"Has he said the results of the meeting?"

"No, but—"

"But he brought pizza," Wesley said, eying the pie on the coffee table. "And Mr. Stark knows he's here?"

"I was just about to tell him."

Wesley nodded, and waited as Pepper disappeared downstairs to tell Tony of his guests. An alarming crash sounded from beneath the floor while Pepper was gone, but she appeared several moments later, reassuring both Wesley and Obadiah that nothing important was broken. Tony appeared shortly after, making everything go from tense to sour.

Wesley's jaw ticked when Obadiah revealed that the board wanted to file an injunction against Tony. Not a word. Not a _word_ had been said to Wesley, and _everything_ passed through him. He narrowed his eyes.

"Mr. Stark, if I might—" he began, walking toward Tony as the man retreated to the stairs.

"Can't, busy," Tony said, mouth full of pizza as he stalked down to his workshop. Wesley stopped at the mouth of the stairway.

"You know, in many ways, Tony's far ahead of the curve," Obadiah sighed, coming to stand next to Wesley. The pizza box in his hand felt like a slap. "But I doubt he'll ever stop being a fussy two-year-old."

Wesley looked at the man, ironing out his distaste before Obadiah turned to him.

"This would be a kick in the teeth for anyone," he said delicately, looking back at the stairs.

"I suppose," Obadiah said, and gave a thin smile.

* * *

Tony was not supposed to be at the firefighter's benefit. Wesley had not gotten the details (so frightfully little information reached him, these days), but whether it was because of the board's hardening feelings or if it really was best for Tony's health to stay out of the cameras' way, Tony had not been issued an invitation. Wesley had prepared himself for when Tony found out after the party (there was honestly no way Tony kept track of so much as the day of the week), but he had not expected his employer to sweep into the ballroom with a tuxedo and a confident smile. He should have, though. He really, really should have.

Wesley watched from the other side of the room as he spoke to Agent Coulson, the spook that had been hanging around the company so often these days, and then caught sight of Pepper. Pepper Potts was an attractive woman, and though she had always erred on the side of efficient rather than pretty, her inherent beauty had always been there.

Tony, it seemed, had just noticed.

Wesley sighed, and excused himself from his conversation to go get a scotch.

The two of them danced, drawing all sorts of looks as all of the points tallied against the two of them. Tony's womanizing. Pepper's attractiveness. Tony being her boss. Pepper's dress not having a back. Tony looking half-ready to pounce. Pepper looking like she wasn't entirely sure she'd stop him. Thankfully, the two of them left the dance floor before Wesley had to intervene for everyone's sake.

Wesley finished his scotch, contemplating how he might point out to Tony that his presence was potentially throwing gasoline on a slightly calmed forest fire. He was about to approach Tony when a reporter from Vanity Fair appeared and started stabbing Tony with accusations and a polite smile. At this point, Wesley extricated himself from a group of people, determined to stop this whole thing before it turned very, very bad and very, very public.

Tony stalked to the door, the pretty reporter at her heels. Wesley managed to intercept him before they left the hall.

"Mr. Stark," Wesley called, voice that delicate mix of calm and granite that he had mastered so long ago. Tony didn't respond at first, but then turned abruptly to face Wesley. The reporter hovered for a moment, eager to hear what Wesley had to say, but quickly back away at Wesley's icy glare.

"Wesley," Tony grit out, hand clenched tight around a stack of photos. Wesley counted his breaths, dreading the idea of having to deal with some trashy scandal with everything in upheaval.

"Mr. Stark, I must advise—"

" _No,_ I'm done with people telling me what needs to be done," Tony snapped. Wesley gave a smile for the people around them, and gestured that they leave the ballroom. The reporter hesitantly followed, but retained a respectful distance.

"What did she say?"

"She told me what the hell's really going on here," Tony practically growled. He thrust the pictures at Wesley. They showed slaughtered villagers. Ragtag fighters with heavy weaponry. Stark technology.

He dragged in a breath. Tony had told him. Tony had said it the day he had come back. Terrorists had Stark weapons. But seeing the evidence, seeing the corpses of people and animals and vicious looking men carting around millions of dollars of death…

It was not a pleasant sight, for a number of reasons.

"Did you know about this?" Tony asked, the words a cold whisper. Wesley looked up at Tony, shocked at the accusation.

"No, sir, I didn't."

" _Did you?_ "

"I _didn't._ "

"I need to talk to Obadiah," Tony said, turning around and stalking toward Obadiah, who was still speaking to reporters on the front steps.

" _Mr. Stark_ ," Wesley called, ignoring the reporter edge around him to follow Tony. Wesley stood at the top of the stairs, watching Tony demand answers from Obadiah. Obadiah looked annoyed, smiled, took a picture with Tony. Then he walked away, jagged arrogance battling his irritation.

Wesley let out a slow breath as Tony stood still on the stairs, and the reporter slowly returned to the ballroom.

He was supposed to manage any catastrophe. But he hadn't prepared for this.

* * *

Pepper sounded strained when she called.

"James, please come to the mansion," she said, clearly fighting for control. In the background, Tony could be heard cursing at Dum-E.

"What is it?" he asked, taking a sharp turn to take the exit to Tony's mansion.

"I can't—it's not—just please come, quickly. I can't...I'm not sure what to do with any of this."

"I understand. I'll be there in ten minutes," he said. Pepper breathed out a thank you, and hung up.

"JARVIS," Wesley said, making his phone light up again.

"Yes, sir?"

"Please, tell me what Mr. Stark's physical condition is."

There was a slight pause as his phone's remote system conferred with the main one. "From what I can gather from the mansion's system, Mr. Stark does not appear to have any intoxicants in his system, nor any injuries to speak of. An abnormal level of adrenaline—"

"Alright, thank you, JARVIS." Wesley sighed through his nose. He had no idea what to expect.

Wesley just stared when he walked into the workshop. The finely shattered glass was the first thing he noticed, but quickly vanished from his mind. He honestly had nothing to say at the sight of a _suit of armor_ perched neatly in the corner. Wesley's stomach curled itself into thorny knots as he combined the strain in Pepper's voice, Tony's penchant for being flamboyantly destructive, and the potential a mechanized suit of armor presented.

Pepper was standing, fidgeting, actually, while Tony was sprawled at his desk, a green smoothie in hand.

"Oh, thank goodness you're here," Pepper breathed, walking toward him.

"Why did you call him, I told you not to call him," Tony said quietly as she walked past. Then he turned and gave Wesley a big smile, clapping his hand together and popping out of his desk.

"Jimaroo, you're here," he said, like he could bullshit his way through this.

"You didn't want Ms. Potts to call me?" Wesley asked, snapping his eyes to Tony's face. Tony gave a one shouldered shrug, while Pepper sighed. Wesley looked back at the suit.

"Ms. Potts, may I please speak to Mr. Stark alone?" he asked, not looking at her. Pepper hesitated, looking at Tony.

"No, Pep, I'd really prefer it if you stayed, you know, play ref," Tony said. He hid his apprehension well, but his typical _cockiness_ pricked at Wesley's skin.

" _Please,"_ Wesley ground out. Pepper stepped toward the door.

"I…I should probably call to arrange…something," she said, casting a helpless look at the suit in the corner.

Tony stood quietly, waiting for Wesley's condemnation. The vague nervousness had disappeared, leaving him defiant. Wesley ignored him for a moment, walking to the suit. It looked slightly worn, with scratches on the glossy red and gold plating. Slightly worn with bullet holes. It was beautiful, though. Beautiful and imposing and very, very Tony.

"What does it do?" he said quietly. Tony sighed.

"What do you think."

Wesley's jaw ticked. He stared up at the suit, this perverse creation that defied Tony's edict of peace. It had taken time to create. It had probably been the only thing he had been working on since his return.

"You didn't call me," Wesley said, staring at the intimidating mask.

"What?"

"You didn't _call_ me." Wesley turned to face Tony, now able to keep his voice level.

Tony shrugged again. "I didn't think I needed to. You were busy running the company clearly _no one_ wants me to be a part of, I was just tinkering and—"

" _Tinkering,_ " Wesley repeated, broken glass in his words. " _Tinkering. This_ is what you're calling _tinkering?_ "

He flung his hand back at the suit, then checked himself.

"You didn't _call_ me," Wesley said again, making his voice slow, because that was the only thing he could say without losing his mind.

"Why is that so important?!"

"Because you _always_ call me!" he yelled, throwing caution down into the gutter next to Tony's common sense. "Always, without fail, I am your _first call._ You don't go off and make _war machines_ without at least _telling_ me! Mr. Stark, my function as your lawyer, as your _fixer_ is to keep your image _safe._ I can't do that when you're running around behind my back with _this._ "

Wesley cast a disgusted look at the used suit. He could barely imagine what it could do, but the only thing Tony knew how to make was extravagant destruction.

"I did call you," Tony said quietly, his eyes turning _hard_ at Wesley's accusations.

" _When?_ "

"When we were attacked," he said, stepping closer to Wesley. "When the escort was attacked, when those terrorists _killed_ all of those people around me. I got out, I had a few seconds before they tried to blow me up with _my own damn weapons_. I tried to call you."

Wesley stared at him, the blunt, ragged honesty of Tony' swords stealing the indignation from his tongue.

"Mr. Stark, I—"

"I _tried_ , Wesley. I jumped through the hoops everyone laid out for me like normal, and then I was thrown into a cave for three months, with a _car battery_ attached to my chest to keep me from dying. And I didn't have you to tell me what to do. I didn't _have you,_ " Tony said, the words coming out as hard punches to Wesley's chest.

"You can't have expected me to be able to—"

"No, I don't! I didn't," he said, and he fell frightfully still. "I never expected you to come find me, not anyone. That's what I'm _telling_ you. The only people I had to rely were myself and—and myself only. I had to get myself out of there, I had to look after _me._ And I'm not about to go back. I'm taking care of things now, I'm doing what I should have done before everyone I trusted thought it a good idea to sell my weapons to terrorists!" Tony slammed his hand down on his desk, making a few things clatter to the floor. Tony looked ragged and raw and _desperate,_ begging for Wesley to understand, begging for someone to see what he was trying to do.

Wesley watched him for a long moment. And even though he was angry and worried and hatefully in _awe_ of the thing before him, he was keenly aware of one fact. There was no way Tony Stark had said this to anyone. Not with that wild panic staring Wesley in the face.

He stalked past Tony, taking in the totaled sports car, the hole in the ceiling, the evidence of him building all of his frustration and loneliness and fear into something usable.

"You got yourself out," Wesley asked the window. "The suit…you used that? A prototype? You had a reactor for power."

"Yes," he said heavily. "I had a prototype suit."

Wesley worked his jaw, thinking about explosions in the desert and Tony found roaming the dunes alone.

"Do you wish to retain my services?"

"What?"

"Do you have need of me, now that you are accustomed to doing things alone?" He didn't mean for the words to come out with such bite.

Tony paused, glancing at the ground before looking back up. "I don't want you to quit."

Wesley let out a slow breath and turned to leave the workshop.

"You'll need to inform me of everything you've done in the suit, and what it's capable of, and who might have seen you."

"Rhodey knows," Tony called after him. "I had a bit of a run around with the Air Force."

Wesley didn't even try to silence his groan.

* * *

"Mr. Stark," Wesley said, pausing in the entry way. Tony was laying on the couch, feet propped up on the armrest.

"Yeah?" he asked, flicking through something on his tablet.

"I will be flying to Chicago for the next week," he said stiffly, taking Tony's acknowledgement as invitation to move closer. Things had been strained since Wesley had discovered the suit. Every time he interacted with Tony, images of suit schematics and off handed accounts of skirmishes in the Middle East kept flickering to the front of his mind.

"Yeah, be in bed by eight and your phone number's on the fridge in case I need to call you."

"Mr. Stark—" Wesley began, a reprimand on his tongue, but then he stopped. He didn't know why, the words just felt…wrong. He didn't know who he was speaking to anymore.

Tony looked around at Wesley's unfinished sentence. He watched him for a long moment, seeming on the verge of saying something himself as he sat upright on the couch. But then he shrugged.

"Phone call couldn't suffice?"

"I had some things that needed your signature," Wesley said. He moved forward and set a folder onto the coffee table. Tony glanced at the folder, but didn't open it. "They're standard documents. For the company."

"I'm still a part of that?"

"Your name _is_ still on the building." Tony scoffed out a laugh at that, but stayed quiet.

Wesley hesitated a moment, then said, "If anything comes up…"

"I know, call you," Tony said, looking back down at his tablet.

"I'm available."

Tony kept swiping through screens. He didn't say anything as Wesley walked away.

* * *

"Wesley! Finally, I was worried I'd never reach you," Pepper gasped into the phone.

"I just returned from Chicago," Wesley said, his annoyance at having to fly publicly lost in the face of Pepper's fear. "What's wrong?"

"Please, you've got to get down to the company!" Pepper gasped into the phone. "Obadiah, he-he-he hired those terrorists to kill Tony!"

" _What?"_

"He's recreated Tony's suit and I think he's fighting Tony, but Tony's not responding—"

"Are you safe?" Wesley demanded, silently cursing the traffic. He couldn't tell what the road block was, it was after nine, there was no way the dregs of rush hour could be holding onto the city. There weren't any police lights indicating a crash—

An explosion appeared farther down on the highway. Wesley rolled down his windows to hear the grinding ripping scraping of metal on metal and people yelling. Men. _Tony—_

"I'm on the highway," he said shortly, maneuvering his way to the exit. Horns screamed at him as he scraped between the creep vehicles, crunching fenders and grinding off paint. "Tony and Obadiah are on the highway, they've stopped traffic."

" _Oh no,_ " she breathed, sounding on the verge of tears. "Tony—all those people—is there anything you can do?" she asked someone near her, then remembered Wesley on the phone. "Agent Coulson, he's here with a team, they're keeping me safe, but—"

"Stay with them," Wesley told her, speed edging closer and closer to ninety. "Do they have backup coming?"

"Uh, yes, and a clean up crew, but Wesley—"

" _Pepper,_ it'll be fine. I'll be there in a few minutes—"

"Wesley, what about Tony?"

"It'll be fine," he promised her, smoothing his voice out as he recalled blueprints of the suit, flares and palm cannons and missiles and foot rockets. "Tony will be _fine._ Contact Lt. Colonel Rhodes and make sure the Air Force doesn't get involved. Ask Agent Coulson about their damage control. I'll be there soon. It'll be fine."

Wesley could see a trail of light and smoke as two _things_ took off from the highway and sailed into the sky.

* * *

"Mr. Stark, I must insist you follow Agent Coulson's alibi."

"Yeah, but a _body guard?_ Honestly, why would I give the suit to Joe Schmoe when I could wear it? _The Bugle's_ gonna have this apart in seconds."

"No one important reads rags," Wesley said, consulting his phone. His schedule promised that the following week would be composed of lots of coffee and headaches.

"Pepper, talk to the man—"

" _Tony,_ " she said, but she had half a smile in her voice as she helped him with his suit jacket. Wesley cast a look at the two of them smiling at each other, and gave them three seconds.

" _Mr. Stark,_ " he said, locking his phone and stowing it in his suit, "please. The company cannot take any more media strain, and _you…_ solitary cruises can't take place during media storms."

Tony looked at Pepper as she adjusted his pocket square. He murmured something Wesley couldn't hear, which earned a soft-eyed look from Pepper. She responded in an equally low voice, but Wesley distinctly caught the words ' _we went up onto the roof_ ' and ' _you left me there_ '. Tony's expression of vaguely mortified panic was almost too much for Wesley's cool professionalism to bear.

"Mr. Stark, they're ready for you," some nameless agent said, and Tony quickly saw himself out of the room.

Wesley went to stand by Pepper to watch the address. Tony stepped up to the podium with his shoulders back and his head high, like nothing in the world bothered him.

"Do you think he'll do it?" Pepper asked, nerves making her voice a little higher. Wesley didn't respond, just narrowed his eyes as he watched Tony speak. His voice hitched and he stammered. Not good.

Rhodes leaned over to whisper something in his ear and Tony seemed to compose himself. He consulted his notes.

"Truth is…I am Iron Man."

For fuck's sake.


	2. dying

_AN look at this beautiful monstrosity._

* * *

 **ii.**

"A _subpoena?"_ Wesley groaned to himself, not strictly _surprised_ , but certainly less than delighted. In the time it had taken Tony to walk outside, he had gotten himself a _subpoena._

"Yeah. Gift wrapped it beautifully, though. Damn pencil pushers getting me through my vices."

"Because you're so easy to contact otherwise," Wesley said dryly, turning away from the noise of the Expo so he could hear better.

"Okay, well, frankly I resent the subtle accusation you're giving there, both of them in fact, don't think I missed that."

"I wouldn't dream of it, Mr. Stark."

"Okay, well, due diligence done, gonna hang up now."

"Hold on a moment, Mr. Stark, we should go over what you'll say—"

"Mm, sorry, you're breaking up. Man, reception in New York, who knew?"

" _Mr. Stark."_

"Talk at you later, Wes."

Wesley closed his eyes and lowered the phone from his ear. Heaven help whoever was interrogating him.

* * *

"This isn't good," Pepper said, catching up to Wesley as he walked into the courtroom behind Tony. "This is very much not good. Did he go over anything with you?"

"Yes, I managed to catch him last night." It had taken some coercion, but Tony had finally decided to stop being difficult. Kind of.

"What do you think's going to happen?"

"I think the senators are going to demand respect and he's going to crap all over them," he said sedately, unbuttoning his suit so he could sit down.

Pepper gave a slight whimper and sat beside him.

"Frankly I think anyone careless enough to call Tony to court, interview him personally, and have cameras rolling are begging for trouble."

Tony turned around in his seat, tossing Pepper a wink.

"I really wish you were up there with him," she whispered, frowning at Tony.

"As do I," Wesley said, watching Tony mouth things to Pepper as the senator attempted to get his attention.

Wesley didn't feel overly concerned as Senator Stern attempted to herd Tony into a ring and failed gloriously. Tony, despite all of his posturing, impulsive decisions, and careless attitude, knew how to play the game. Wesley had seen it all before, but it still gave him a touch of pride to see Tony shed his air of flippant disregard and roundhouse the people who underestimated him. Of course, Tony quickly hid his prowess behind a snarky jab about senators and prostitution.

 _Always keeps them guessing,_ Wesley thought, pride now battling disapproval. It would have been _so_ much easier if Tony had just stayed to his steely, capable persona, rather than defaulting back to the cheeky, robust one.

Tony turned to grin at the courtroom, peace sign held up. His hand and smile dropped once his eyes reached Wesley and Pepper.

 _No?_ he mouthed.

One day, Wesley thought to himself as he raised an eyebrow and Pepper gave a stony shake of her head, the two of them might actual resemble Tony Stark's employees and not his parents.

When Justin Hammer was called to the stand, some part of Wesley simply surrendered any hope of this ending well. Things looked up for a brief moment when Lt. Colonel Rhodes entered the chamber and he and Tony tag teamed Stern's argument. When Tony 'commandeered' the screens and smeared unflattering footage of attempts to re-create the Iron Man suit…well, Tony proved his own point. And Stern managed to get himself censored on C-SPAN, so at least Wesley had something to work with when he tried to smooth over this whole damn mess.

* * *

"Hey, Dread Lawyer Roberts," Tony called from the kitchen. Wesley suppressed an eye roll. Not the best name, but at least it was clever. And definitely better than Tony's late favorite, 'Jimarooski'.

(Wesley had pointedly not responded to the new name for three days until Tony couldn't stand being ignored and finally conceded the point. Wesley had also decided that if any new nickname candidates appeared, he would file them as a new employee on Tony's payroll and collect.)

(It would probably take Tony a few months to notice.)

"Yes, Mr. Stark," Wesley said from the living room.

He had driven himself to Tony's house even though he was jetlagged and grumpy and had coerced perhaps four hours of sleep from his schedule since the senate hearing. Which had been every bit the disaster Wesley had feared. Which had then gone viral. Wesley had vague hopes of getting Tony to cooperate in the clean up attempts before he jumped into another project.

"I wanna run something by you real quick."

"If it's anything beneath successfully privatizing world peace and becoming a nuclear deterrent, then it'll have to wait."

"Are you still mad about that?"

"I'm not _mad,_ Mr. Stark, simply surprised that I, your lawyer and the person that has asked you several thousand times to _inform me_ before you do something radical, was not told of this sudden change in your person. I'm sure nuclear deterrents get a few more tax write offs that we're not taking advantage of." Wesley didn't look up from his papers as he said this, but he could feel Tony staring at him through the doorway.

"Could you just come in here?

"Could you come back into the room?"

Tony's silence was answer enough.

Wesley sighed and got up, adjusted his cuffs, and walked into the kitchen. He was _not_ rested enough for this.

Tony was preparing some sort of green energy drink at the island which looked…unappetizing.

"You're on the up and up of Stark legal, yeah?"

"Yes, I know quite a bit," Wesley said hesitantly.

"Okay, cool, just wondering."

"This isn't the precursor to giving me a migraine, is it?"

"Hm? No, I dunno, probably not." Tony left the island and walked to the table. He dropped into a seat and propped his feet on another chair, sipping on his energy drink. "You like this table?"

"The…table?"

"Yeah," Tony said, patting it absently. "Never really got into the glass top thing, always looks dirty."

"I have always preferred stained mahogany, myself."

"Yeah?" Tony asked, looking back at Wesley. "The bookcase in the upstairs study's made of mahogany."

"Yes, I recall."

"You want it? I feel like overhauling the place, just change it up, less dark wood, y'know, maybe add a bit of color."

"Mr. Stark, I not only have no _need_ for a bookshelf larger than my bed, I also feel it would be inappropriate."

"Giving you underwear would be inappropriate."

"And a complete invasion of privacy."

"Not saying I'd make you wear them. I dunno, though, if you're into that niche I can certainly make that part of your pay."

"Mr. Stark."

"I mean, arrange it all with Pepper, she might give you a look, but—"

" _Mr. Stark,_ what did you call me in here for? We need to sort out the catastrophe that was the senate hearing and then—"

"I was just thinking about theoretical stuff."

"Theoretical—with the company?"

"Yeah, little stuff, no big deal."

"Anything involving you and legal aspects are always a big deal."

"But that's the thing, I think it'd be for the best if I—"

" _What_ would be for the best?"

" _Pepper,_ " Tony said, the words ripping out in a huff. "Pepper, I want Pepper to be the new CEO."

"…Excuse me?"

"I want her to have it. I want her to be the one running the show. I've got the Iron Man gig and business is boring, it bores me."

"She is…your assistant."

"We both know she makes it all work. I pass all the work off to her and she has me sign the papers. I don't want it."

Wesley gave Tony a long look. "You love this company."

"I love what the company lets me _do._ "

"You _hated_ the idea of losing it six months ago."

" _Six months ago,_ Obadiah Stane was trying to steal it from me because I pissed him off."

Wesley let out a slow breath. Tony was…giving it away? He was certainly a binge hoarder, gathering up whatever caught his eye then throwing it away unexpectedly. But that was for small things, art collections and cars and airplanes and hell, even people. But the company, the table, the bookshelves…he was getting rid of everything. Everything but the suit.

Wesley opened his mouth, hesitated, then spoke. "Ms. Potts is…a perfectly capable candidate for CEO. I cannot be certain, but you should be able to select her as your successor. But…is it really because you are _bored_ with the company?"

"I've got bigger things on my plate," he said vaguely, looking out at the ocean stretching far, far, far away from them. Wesley watched him, uncertain about the distaste Tony was barely keeping from his features.

"I shall look into the matter of CEO and get back to you. But if that is all…"

"Hm? Yeah, sure is. Take care of yourself, Wesley," Tony said, waving a hand at him.

Wesley paused, considering pressing the issue of the hearing, but Tony had already turned back to the window.

* * *

Wesley had taken his eyes off Tony for _two seconds_ and now he was in a racecar. Pepper was frantic, calling Tony's new assistant Natalie over for an explanation. Natalie looked equally alarmed, a sharp crack appearing in her seductive efficiency.

"Get Happy," Pepper ordered, eyes fastening back on the screen. Then, quieter so that only Wesley could hear, "What is he _doing?"_

"I don't know," Wesley said.

He forced his hands to stay at his side. He couldn't do anything. Yet again, Wesley was being broadsided by the rash, _dangerous_ actions of his employer and he couldn't _do_ anything.

"He's been doing this a lot more lately," Wesley murmured, staring at the screen as Tony's car sliced down the track. "He's been reckless, lashing out in extreme behavior."

"Tony's _always_ been that way," Pepper hissed, glancing at Wesley.

He gave a slow shake of the head. "Not like this. Never like this."

"It's that stupid suit, he thinks he's invincible, that he can't die—"

"I think it's because he knows he can," Wesley said, finally meeting Pepper's gaze.

"What?"

"He's keenly aware he can die. That's why he's getting so close to death."

" _What?"_ she hissed, voice a littler lower than before. "Don't say that, don't you dare say that."

"Mr. Stark is a person that likes control," Wesley said, hating the twisted truth of it.

Pepper was about to respond when she gave a slight gasp, eyes flicking back to the television screen. Wesley turned to look, stomach clenching before he registered someone in an orange jumpsuit walking down the track. He stared at the man, horror sliding through his bones as the top of his suit burned away to reveal the electric skeleton of some sort of battle gear. Two feral, crackling whips of energy were held tightly in his hands.

Wesley pushed himself up out of his seat, a half-formed relief jerking through him as he saw Happy standing in the doorway with Tony's portable suit. They pushed through the crowd, falling into the car before they had time to think. Wesley's hands were fists as Happy crashed them onto the racetrack, driving against the flow of slim racecars.

"Tony's gonna be okay, right? He's gonna be okay," Pepper whispered. She turned her attention away from Wesley when he didn't speak, his jaw ground too tight to admit sound.

The car screamed around a corner, revealing smoke and fire and people running scared. Wesley raked through the scene, needing to find Tony, needing to silence the nauseous whispers of ' _you failed, you failed, you're supposed to help him, you're supposed to keep him safe but you have_ failed'.

He braced himself as Happy slammed into the man on the track, the whips fizzling out as the man slumped between the fence and the car hood. Tony dropped down from where he had jumped onto the fence, staggering over to the driver side window.

" _Are you okay?_ " Happy yelled, hands still locked on the steering wheel.

"Were you headed for me or him?" Tony demanded, glaring at him.

"I was trying to scare him—"

" _'Cause I can't tell!_ " Tony shouted, his composure frayed to nonexistence.

" _Are you out of your mind?!"_ Pepper shrieked, overriding Tony's protests. " _Get in the car!"_

Wesley closed his eyes as everyone yelled over each other, letting his fists unclench. Yelling was obnoxious and unproductive but yelling was not dead and not dying.

Tony limped around to the other side of the car as Wesley slid next to Pepper. He glanced at the man pinned between against the fence, stomach dropping away when he began to shift.

" _Tony, get away from the car!"_ Wesley shouted, turning even as the man sliced his whip down.

Tony staggered back as the door in his hand was cut in half. Everyone was shouting again, Happy was slamming the car into the man again and again, and Tony was attempting to get the suit from Pepper.

Wesley ripped the suit from Pepper's hands as the whips slashed through the car again, spitting sparks and the smell of burned metal, plastic, and leather everywhere. He flung the case out of the car, then dove to the side as the man attacked the car again. Wesley grit his teeth as the glowing metal burned through his suit sleeve, biting back the pain. He gasped in a breath as Tony, now fully suited up, kicked the car to safety.

Something cracked against the side of Wesley's skull, forcing him to hunch over and cradle the injury. There was screaming and the crackle of the whips and the dull shift of metal against metal and Wesley's heartbeat bludgeoning through his veins and his ears and the pain in his head. If he just had his damn gun then he could have actually _done_ something—that psychopath would have been on the ground dead or dying—now his head hurt like shit and he could barely think—he was really, really, _really_ pissed Tony was attracting more and more freaks like this.

By the time the crowd began cheering, Wesley had managed to lift his head without seeing stars. The man with the whips was being dragged away by the police. His suit was dead and his mouth was bloody and he was laughing, cackling like a lunatic and shouting, "You lose _, you lose_!"

Wesley could think through the throbbing pain just enough to realize that this madman was right. And Tony knew it, too.

* * *

The plane ride back to California was long and miserable. Tony had won the battle against Ivan Vanko, but there was the dull air of defeat hanging around them. Tony had tried to play things off, but it was easy to spot the tension in his voice. After he returned from speaking with Vanko, Tony became even sharper, his stress translating into a devastatingly biting wit.

Wesley wanted to know what all of this meant, what Tony's next step was. Somehow none of them had considered anyone wanting to attack Tony Stark. Iron Man, of course, he was a shining red and gold bullseye, but he was also a walking death trap for anyone that tried to take him on. Iron Man was the danger, he was the nuclear deterrent Tony had branded him. And yet, even though Tony had been saying it all along, somehow everyone had managed to forget that Tony Stark _was_ Iron Man; an attack on one was an attack on the other.

The really shocking thing was that _Wesley_ had forgotten, despite having gone through three brutal, dark, terrifying months of worry and not knowing if Tony was dead or alive. He had managed to forget people _did_ want to attack Tony Stark, and had done so far beyond Wesley's reach.

Tony was far less willing to discuss the matter than Wesley had hoped. He bustled around the jet's kitchen, ignoring Wesley's gaze and making a mess. He grumbled under his breath as he cracked eggs and heated up butter, his thoughts clearly as scattered as the cooking supplies on the counter.

"Mr. Stark," Wesley finally said. He had just watched Tony attempt to grate and then swear at a block of cheese, and figured that now was as good a time as any.

"Oh, Wesley, I didn't see you there, lurking three feet away and not saying anything for the last ten minutes," Tony said, not looking at him.

Wesley waited a moment.

"Mr. Stark."

" _What?_ " Tony demanded, turning to face him and tossing down the cheese grater with exaggerated force.

"It would be easier if you used a larger grater."

Tony stared at him for a long moment like he was chewing over his thoughts, then spat out, "If _you_ wanna find one in this hellhole, be my guest."

Wesley methodically looked through the drawers, pretending not to hear Tony's hiss-whispered, "I can make a fucking arc reactor in a cave but not a damn fucking _omelet_ for Pepper."

He handed Tony the larger grater, then resumed watching him.

" _What?_ " Tony snapped, glaring at Wesley.

"We need to talk about what happened in Monaco."

"So you can spin that, too?" Tony spat, words nothing but acid. Wesley's expression didn't change.

Tony huffed out a sigh, then braced his hands on the counter. He looked exhausted. There were bags under his eyes and a pallor to his skin that Wesley had not noticed before.

He frowned. It was his job to notice.

"I don't know what to tell you," Tony mumbled, staring at the floor.

They were quiet for a long moment, then Tony pieced himself back together, pulling up that strong set of armor that he had forged long before Iron Man ever existed. He cracked some eggs into a bowl like nothing happened.

"You'll want to cut them with milk," Wesley said, allowing himself to sit on the edge of the table. Despite Tony's current show of hostility, he had let Wesley in. He was ready to talk about the problem at hand, however difficult it would be. Once you got past Tony Stark's guards, you were treated to almost flawless honesty.

Almost.

He handed Tony the small carton of milk, watching his hands work.

"They're gonna eat me alive for that guy out there," Tony said, staring at the bowl as he whisked the eggs. "The technology…it was almost exactly like the reactor."

Wesley raised his eyebrows, shock getting him before he could school his features. "How…?"

"I don't know," Tony said, shaking his head. He sounded defeated. "I don't know where that nutjob got his info, if there are more like him, I don't know anything. I don't know if I can sort it out."

Wesley narrowed his eyes, turning his head slightly as though to catch a different view of his employer. "You're not one to admit defeat."

"It's not defeat if you know you probably won't—" Tony cut himself off, staring at Wesley for a long moment, chewing on his cheek as he battled against himself. He looked back down at the bowl.

"Probably won't…what?" Wesley asked, steel layering into his voice. Tony stayed silent. "Mr. Stark—"

"I'm tired of all of this," Tony said, looking up and waving vaguely at the space around him. Wesley resisted the urge to shy away from a few droplets of egg that were slung by Tony's whisk. "I'm tired of being 'Mr. Stark'. I'm tired of people crowding around me because I'm rich and famous."

"This is…a new development."

"Did you see those people out there, on the track?" Tony asked, voice a little heavier now. "They stayed to watch. A crazy guy wielding electric whips comes out and is blowing shit up, but some people stay to watch because I'm Iron Man. They _cheered_ when I put on the suit. They cheered and acted like it was a game."

"That _is_ part of the attitude you have cultivated," Wesley said carefully.

Tony gave a snort.

"I didn't want people to be _idiots._ I didn't want them to view me _as…entertainment._ I don't want to be a big flashy show. I wanna be…I'm tired of making myself jump through hoops to please people."

Wesley watched Tony for a long moment. He had said much the same thing before, back when Wesley had first discovered the suit. Tony had said he was finished jumping through the hoops people set before him. And had Wesley been anyone else, known Tony Stark as anyone else, he would have said that had been the end of Tony complying with social expectations, would have said Tony never complied with social expectations in the first place. But he knew that there was a distinct difference between the bombastic, careless billionaire and the tinkerer that slipped down to his workshop when his mind was buzzing and his hands couldn't rest. Tony had tried building something completely different for himself and he'd had his fingers burned by society. He had learned his lesson and would obediently fall back into roles that captivity had burned out of him.

"Tony," Wesley said, searching through everything he could say.

He could press the issue, he could lie and say that things would be fine, he could leave Tony alone. He could say anything to Tony at that moment, when he was broken down and vulnerable, numbly pouring eggs into a pan. But he was tired of making decisions for Tony and then having to backtrack when Tony didn't follow his plan.

"What do you want me to do?" he asked softly.

"Take care of things, like always," Tony said, the words falling out in a cheap laugh. Then he looked at Wesley, his gaze so, so serious. "Take care of it, James. I want so damn bad for you to fix everything for me."

Wesley didn't have anything to say. He watched Tony, arms folded, breath coming a little faster as a heavy sense of dread began tugging at his heels. There was a reason for the look of utter defeat in Tony's eyes, but some small, soft, emotive part of him was panicking and shoving it away. When Wesley spoke, he sounded calm, careful as he picked through the details. Wesley deeply appreciated his ability to compartmentalize.

"Why does it sound like you don't think I can?"

Tony smiled and looked back down. It felt like a moment had been lost. Like, for the first time, Wesley had asked the wrong question.

"Because this is looking like something that isn't going to be fixed."

* * *

Wesley spent the following few days trying to charm, push, and insinuate people out of vilifying Tony Stark yet again. He considered it a point of professional honor to do the absolute most he could for his employers, even before he had been hired by Tony. But after having seen Tony's fragility on the jet, Wesley fought tooth and nail to make things at least a little bit better. He couldn't stop Senator Stern from doing a vindictive and belittling interview, couldn't censor all of the major newspapers and stations from picking up the story and questioning Iron Man's ability to protect the world. But he could keep people back from the mansion, could screen unfriendly calls, postpone meetings, do anything to fix everything as Tony had so plaintively asked.

He also found himself worrying. When he had half a free moment, he found himself scrolling through reasons why Tony had showed him that half broken side. It was something big, Wesley could tell. Tony hadn't acted that way even after he had been recovered from the Ten Rings. Something fundamentally wrong was happening and Wesley couldn't figure out what.

* * *

"Ah, Ms. Rushman," Wesley said, striding into the mansion's foyer and catching sight of Tony's pretty new assistant.

He had heard plenty of complaints about her from Pepper in the days following Monaco, probably because Natalie bothered her more than she wanted to admit and because it was easier than dealing with the latest ugly headlines. Wesley hadn't had much interaction with the woman himself, but vague curiosity had led him to research her history (it was always nice to have a little leverage if it _did_ come down to a harassment lawsuit). He had skimmed through the modeling, the languages, the apparent ability to take down a fully grown and experienced bodyguard with nothing more than a hand twist and a thigh flip. There was a lot on her. A _lot._ It almost went past being impressive into questionable.

She turned to face him, dark red hair swinging from the motion. She was perfectly dressed, as always. Natalie Rushman was tasteful and seductive from bottom to top. In Wesley's experience, tasteful and seductive had something to hide. Namely criminal dealings.

"Yes, Mr. Wesley?"

"I wanted to have a quick word with you before I went in to see Mr. Stark," he said, gesturing toward the living room. "In the midst of the commotion, we really haven't had a chance to talk."

"You've been busy. It's completely understandable with the media storm going on right now."

"I'd assume you've been busy as well. Mr. Stark is a…demanding individual."

"Yes," she said, the slightest smile on her lips. They sat across from each other, pleasant smiles and steel walls in place. "I'm getting a sense of that."

"I understand that you haven't done personal assistant work before?"

"No, but I'm certain I can meet the challenge."

"I bet," Wesley smiled. He wondered who would bottom out of pleasantness first. "Your resume is impressive, say the least. I doubt there's really any challenge you can't handle."

"I like to think so," she said, modestly proud at his praise.

"I'm sure that it's not necessary, but just in case…this is a difficult time for Mr. Stark. He won't show it, but…he needs people. Not parties or women or people to flatter him, but real, genuine, human interaction. He needs someone to be honest with him, because that is so very rare in his life."

Natalie's eyes were serious as she nodded at Wesley. "I understand. Having someone to rely on is…it's something special, even if it's small."

"And please alert me if he asks you to arrange any meetings with health specialists," Wesley said, leaning back and resuming his previous charming persona. "It's nothing serious, of course, but in case any of the news stations catch wind, I want to be able to deal with it as quickly as possible."

"Of course. I'll let you know if he asks for anything. Oh, he requested that a woman named Reina Velasquez be flown in from San Francisco. I wasn't sure who that was, so…" She gave an embarrassed smile, silently asking for him to explain.

"That's Mr. Stark's previous nanny," Wesley said, nodding. "We sometimes have her come down on occasion, for moral support. She'll insist on cooking and cleaning, that's fine. Make sure she flies first class, but let her book her own hotel."

Telling this woman Tony's secrets felt like a betrayal. It had been just him, Pepper, and Tony for so long that he had forgotten the possibility of things changing. He didn't want anyone else coming in, becoming a liability. And it didn't matter how sleek her dress was or how pretty her smiles, it felt wrong.

"I see," Natalie said, nodding. "Thank you."

"Not at all," Wesley said, standing up. "Don't hesitate to ask if you have any questions. I want to make sure your transition here is smooth as possible."

They exchanged smiles once more, and then Wesley excused himself to see Tony in the workshop. It felt like he was turning his back on a viper.

"Ah, Wesley, JARVIS said you'd come in ages back. What took so long?" Tony asked, poking his head out from under one of his classic cars as Wesley entered the workshop.

"I had a quick talk with Miss Rushman."

"Isn't she a champ," Tony said, disappearing back under the car.

Wesley stopped a few feet away, waiting quietly for him to resurface. Tony kept chattering, observations and quips streaming out like maybe he could scare Wesley away with the onslaught.

"Tony, I need to ask you something."

He fell silent, then reluctantly slid out from under the car.

"What about?" he asked, rolling off the board he had been lying on and standing up.

He wiped his hands on a cloth sticking out of his back pocket. Wesley watched him walk over to his desk, then moved nearer.

"Tony, what's wrong?"

"Well, I can't get the damn car to start, for one thing," Tony said, gesturing at the car he had been working on. "You'd think that since I'm—"

"I meant with _you_."

Tony stopped for a whole heartbeat, hands falling at his sides, gaze tired as he examined Wesley.

"You wanna know?"

"I do. I can't help if I don't know what's going on."

Tony looked away, chewing on his cheek.

"Palladium," he said finally.

Wesley frowned. "Palladium? As in—"

"As in the stuff in my chest. It's poisoning me and I can't find a replacement and that sucks because it's kinda the only thing keeping me alive. There. That's what's wrong."

Wesley blinked at him. He opened his mouth to say something, then closed it again. No, that couldn't be right, Tony couldn't be—but the reactor was supposed to be his fix all—there was something wrong with it—it was poisoning him? It was poisoning him and he kept it in his _body_?

"You're dying?" Wesley asked, and that slight, creeping sensation that had started in the jet grabbed a hold of him again and hollowed him completely out.

Tony cracked a slight smile. "It sounds a lot worse when you say it."

Wesley stepped closer, eyes raking Tony's form. The pallor, the exhaustion, they made sense now. And the black trails going up his neck, black trails where his veins and arteries should be. Death was trailing up Tony's skin even as Wesley watched. And he had sensed it, known some was wrong, but he had _never_ imagined—

He swallowed, fighting for control, fighting to tame the situation, to find an angle. But there was no angle on death.

"How long have you known?"

"A while."

"And you've just—you haven't _told_ anyone?" Wesley snapped out, because anger was a much safer thing that grief.

"I wanted to see if I could fix things, first."

 _"Then_ you would have told us?" he scoffed, shaking his head. "After narrowly missing death, you would have casually brought it up to me, and Pepper, and everyone else?"

"I didn't want you to worry."

"Because you can't handle someone showing that they _care_ about you?!"

"Because you can't _do_ anything, Wesley!" Tony snapped, hands in fists on his desk. "You _can't_ fix it."

"That's _not_ why you tell people things!"

"I don't tell you _a lot_ of things!"

"Well, you should choose to of your own volition!"

"What's the point of making you all worry when you can't _do_ anything?! Why do you _always_ want to know? Did you _really_ wanna know what it was like living in a freezing cave, having terrorists torture me to make them weapons, wondering if I'm finally gonna die, knowing that my life and the life of another relied on getting my plan to work?!"

"Your life and another, wait—"

"You think I _wanna_ make you think about heavy metal toxicity, about the nausea and nerve damage and vomiting? _I don't want that!_ "

 _"_ I want you to _trust_ someone!"

"I don't want you to feel _bad_ for me because nothing can be done!"

"And yet _this_ was what you were asking for on the plane," Wesley said, voice falling back to biting iron.

A neat, devastating hole had been poked in the middle of his anger after hearing some of what Tony was hiding. All this and Tony still kept on every day, smiling and joking and pretending.

Wesley shook his head, mouth a tight line. "A cold man of science and yet you were praying for a miracle."

Tony's silence was far more telling than anything he could have said.

Wesley forced himself to breathe, to look at the options, to make himself useful. His head was spinning and he still had a thousand angry things to spit at Tony, but he had to be useful. His job was to make things better, not worse.

"What have you tried?"

"Buying myself more time."

Wesley nodded again, a black taste rising on the back of his tongue. That one sentence alone was enough to quell Wesley's vague rustlings of hope. Tony had left 'desperate' behind a long time ago and was sauntering deeper and deeper into resignation. There wasn't anything Wesley could do. If _Tony Stark_ couldn't find a solution to his problem with science and blunt facts, there was nothing Wesley could do. He couldn't manipulate and connive elements into being non-lethal. He could not help Tony, no matter how much he wanted to.

"You—do you need me to do anything?" he asked, because uselessness didn't fit him in the slightest.

"Don't tell Pepper," Tony said, the bone-weary sigh of someone who has given up.

* * *

Just when Wesley felt like he was getting the world back under his feet, Tony went and had his birthday party.

Wesley hadn't actually been able to reach the party on time. A new crop of Iron Man protesters had appeared and were trying to vilify Tony in all ways possible, forcing Wesley to deal with them personally and causing him to be generously late to the party. Which wasn't _necessarily_ a bad thing. Even before he left the office, Wesley knew that Tony's current health would either result in something small, quiet, and reserved only for friends, or an enormous blow out that would take days to clean up after.

The blow out had won.

It all seemed fine from the entryway. As he waded deeper in, however, things turned for the worse. As a general rule Wesley put on his best face for people. When they were heavily intoxicated, making excessive noise, and _not_ the deciding factor of a multi-million dollar deal, they lost that privilege.

He forced out smiles as the music surged, lights flashed, and people had a nice time on Tony's dime. No one there would be sober enough to realize that he was actually grimacing at them. Wesley dodged past a few women who tried to flirt with him through their booze, not willing to chance vomit on his shoes. Which only afforded him the view of Tony making a drunk idiot of himself, yet again.

What made it really hurt, though, was that Wesley had thought Tony was changing. After becoming Iron Man, Wesley thought Tony's drama and splash and irresponsibility was mostly gone. Seeing him stagger around in the suit, microphone in hand as he embarrassed himself before phony party goers made Wesley's stomach turn.

Rhodes and Pepper were likewise unamused. Pepper was wearing a look of disgusted horror, while Rhodes was seething.

"How long has this been going on?" Wesley asked, staring at Tony through narrowed eyes.

"Too long," Rhodes said. His voice became low and horribly calm when he was angry.

"Please tell me everyone here signed a waiver."

"He wasn't supposed to let things get this out of hand," Pepper whispered, hand covering her mouth.

"Unless either of you two have plans, I am going to clear this house out with considerable force," Wesley said, voice almost mild in its calmness.

"You and me both," Rhodes said, sending Wesley a grim, determined look.

" _No,_ no, I told Rhodey I was going to deal with it, and I am," Pepper said quickly. "I don't think violence is really the answer here."

"There wouldn't be violence," Wesley said, eyes still on Tony.

"Look, I'm just waiting for the right moment. I don't want to barge in there and be brushed aside."

"Ms. Potts," Wesley said, "I would strongly suggest you _make_ your right moment."

He closed his eyes as his statement was shortly followed by Tony's announcement that he had just peed in his suit.

"I'll be right back," Pepper mumbled, hurrying toward Tony.

Somewhere between Pepper failing to reign Tony in and Rhodes donning and beating Tony in a spare Iron Man suit, Wesley gave up. He was done being the lawyer for the night, the fixer, the go-to problem solver. He couldn't fix this. He couldn't _fix_ Tony, that much was _very_ clear.

He helped Pepper, Natalie, and Happy guide people out to their cars. He tried not to listen to the sounds of Tony and Rhodes yelling, breaking Tony's house apart. He tried not to think about how Tony was breaking his life apart, bit by bit, day by day.

Wesley was nearly jolted off his feet when something exploded inside the mansion, renewing the screams of the stragglers. Pepper let out a terrified squawk as she stumbled into him, eyes trailing to the sky. Wesley looked up enough to note the lack of red and gold in suit flying away.

Against his better judgment, Wesley stepped back into the house. He surveyed the wreckage, finally settling on Tony crumpled against the fireplace. There was a slight mechanic hum as Tony turned to glance at him.

Wesley walked away, shaking his head.

* * *

Radio silence was not Wesley's natural setting. He firmly believed in a steady trade-off between employee and employer, a consistent back and forth of information that allowed for the smooth operation of whatever it was he was called to protect. But after the nightmare of the party, Wesley could not bring himself to look Tony in the eye. He didn't know why, Wesley just felt…betrayed. He had thought that after Tony had confided in him, had confessed that he was _dying,_ he might respect Wesley's wishes and behave a _little_ bit better.

Which was stupid. Wesley knew Tony. He knew that Tony didn't react well to situations he could not handle. The last time it had happened, Tony had tried to deal with the situation via a robotic suit of armor and an unsanctioned trip to the Middle East. That had been over terrorists using his weapons. He should have expected catastrophic repercussions when Tony faced something as unyielding as death.

Whatever the reason, Wesley strove to make himself as helpful as possible. Pepper needed his help, and she at least could say exactly what she needed and when. She asked for the difficult, didn't demand the impossible.

(Wesley didn't think about how much he _liked_ being able to deliver the impossible.)

He quelled the media's delight over Tony's determined tailspin, privately discouraged Stark Industries' backers from leaving because Pepper was now in charge, negotiated the retrieval of the Mark II suit from the Air Force, kept an eye on Hammer Tech's plans for their Stark Expo reveal, tried to fill the jagged hole that was made by failing at his job. After all Tony had done for him and saved him from, Wesley hadn't even been able to attempt returning the offer.

It was strange, working without Tony. Wesley, Pepper, Happy, and Natalie stood in solidarity, the battle hardened warriors that had been allowed to live under the sun but were now having to cope without it. They didn't say much, just set their shoulders a little straighter and chins a little higher, because maybe, maybe, the dark wouldn't feel so bad after a while.

That didn't mean they were completely scalded by the sun when it tore back through their orbit. Tony Stark appearing on Stark Industries property was not a good thing. It wasn't necessarily a bad thing, either. Wesley didn't know what it was.

He hurried to Pepper's new office, nodding and waving Helen away as she began to frantically explain that Tony had insisted on seeing Pepper.

"It's fine, Helen, I'm sure Mr. Stark has something important that he needs to tell Ms. Potts," Wesley said, easing out the warm, charismatic smile that hid so much these days. Helen nodded but didn't look convinced as Wesley let himself into Pepper's office.

First thing he noticed was Tony sitting before Pepper, leg bouncing compulsively as she gave him a hard look. Oh hell, Tony had brought her strawberries.

He glanced around as Wesley closed the door and stood at the edge of the room.

"—anyway, I just wanted say…do you know how short life is? And if I—look, okay, Wesley totally just derailed my train of thought and that Ferris wheel thing is still bothering me, just turning away and—can I just—Can I start my thirty seconds over? This is—this is not really a good way to start and normally I'm a lot snappier with what I have to say—"

"Tony."

"Okay not the point. I never got to express—and by the way, this is somewhat revelatory to me—and I don't care, I mean, I _care,_ it would be nice but I'm not expecting you to—look, here's what I'm trying to say, I'm just gonna say it—"

"Let me just stop you right here, okay? Because if you say 'I' one more time, I'm going to actually hurl something at your head, I think. I am trying to _run a company_ here. Do you have _any_ idea what that entails?"

" _Yes—"_

"People are relying on you to be Iron Man and you just _disappeared_ , and all I'm doing is putting out your fires and taking the heat for it. _Wesley_ ," she said, throwing a hand out to gesture at him, "is probably the only reason I'm not _drowning_ right now, because every time I think I've got something sorted, you come along and throw something onto my head again. And you'd think I'd be used to it, we'd _all_ be used to you not caring about what you do, but now you need to stop. We have other things that need to be dealt with. People are relying on me now, because I am trying to do the job _you_ were meant to do."

Pepper paused a moment to gather herself. Wesley made himself stay there, made himself not interrupt because he had no place in this whole discussion. But watching made his stomach twist because these were two of the most important people in his life and he had no way to make this problem better.

"Did you bring me strawberries?" she asked.

Wesley closed his eyes.

"Did you know there is only one thing on earth that I'm allergic to?"

"Allergic to strawberries," Tony cut in. "This is progress, Pepper. I knew there was correlation between you and this—"

"I need you—"

"I need you too, Pepper, that's what I'm trying to—"

"—to leave. Now."

Tony sat stunned for a moment, staring at Pepper. He glanced back around when Natalie and Happy entered the room, clearly fumbling for solid ground when he realized that no one in the room was there for him.

"I lost all the kids in the divorce," he said, forcing out a laugh.

"Ms. Potts, there are a few matters that I will need to discuss with you on the plane," Wesley said, unable to stand being there a moment longer. Pepper nodded and Wesley dismissed himself.

He stepped into an empty conference room and braced his hands against the table. He couldn't understand how he was supposed to make his world work when it was so determined to fall apart. He had seen Tony in all sorts of unflattering situations, but desperate, helpless, _friendless…_ It made hard for him to breathe.

Wesley left the room after a moment, adjusting his cuffs. Not a hair out of place, not a question to be raised. He was fine.

"Hey, Wesley."

His stomach dropped.

"Yes, Mr. Stark?"

"Could, uh, could I get someone to pack the old, uhm, Expo-city-town-mock-up-thing in there down to my car?" Tony asked, gesturing vaguely at Pepper's office.

"Of course," he said with a frown, wondering why Tony needed it.

They stood in strained silence for a moment. This was nothing like the uneasy tension that had existed between them after Wesley had found out about the suit. Now it felt like Wesley was staring across an ocean, trying to identify a once familiar shore.

"After all that talk of being _my_ fixer, you go and default to Pepper," Tony said, giving another one of those strained laughs. Wesley grimaced.

"I didn't want to leave you, Mr. Stark."

"But you still did," Tony said, the false humor and the uncertainty falling away to reveal an unsteady hurt. Wesley straightened his shoulders.

"I thought you had made it clear I could not help anything in your situation. And since my position is defined as protecting your interests…I assumed that aiding Ms. Potts would be the next best option."

Tony dropped his eyes, forcing a smile that barely made it to his mouth. "Yeah, uh, thanks for that."

They stood there in a few more tense moments of silence, then Tony straightened.

"See ya in hell," Tony said, touching Wesley's shoulder as he walked past.

Wesley watched after him for a moment, feeling a dull, hollow space in his chest when he realized that was probably one of the last times he would ever see Tony Stark.

* * *

Wesley aggressively did not want to be at the Stark Expo. He wanted to escape the grime of New York and go home to the familiar smog of California. He wanted to lay down and not wake up for a few years, and then be greeted by Tony and Pepper and Happy and even Natalie, all safe and sound and not at odds with each other.

He didn't want Tony to die. And he certainly didn't want to watch a spoiled child dance around on stage and poke fun at the man Wesley should have been trying to help.

Wesley got to his feet. Pepper looked up at him in alarm.

"Wesley? What are you—"

"I'm sorry, Ms. Potts, but I must excuse myself. I don't think…I feel that I should be somewhere else."

"Somewhere else? Like where?"

"Malibu," Wesley said, meeting Pepper's eyes. It was astonishingly easy to see her mild, but Wesley wasn't sure if it was over him or Tony.

She gave a shaky nod. "O-okay. Uhm, safe trip."

"Thank you, ma'am."

He turned to leave the row, aware of the complaints from the people behind him, but froze as the HammerDroids were announced. Wesley stared at the stage.

 _Drones?_ Was Hammer out of his mind? This was his fantastic display? Tony had gone on enough tirades for Wesley to know that drones were _always_ a dangerous idea. And now the United States military was making them their center piece?

No, not the drones. Lt. Colonel James Rhodes was the center piece in the stolen Iron Man suit.

Wesley stared at the suit, mouth pressing tight at the needless weaponry bulking up its familiar shape.

" _What?"_ he heard Pepper say. He didn't spare her a look as as he dug for his phone.

And then there was a rumbling from outside the stadium. Wesley turned, fearing the worst, but saw Tony flying in and landing on the stage in his Iron Man suit. The audience roared and leaped to their feet, delighted to see their hero, regardless of what the news said. But Wesley didn't feel excitement or relief, only dread. Tony wasn't about to have a rematch with a crowd of a few ten thousand strong before his feet, so there had to be another reason for him to crash the Expo.

Or was this another grab for attention, the desperate bid of a dying man?

Wesley pulled out his phone and entered Tony's number, trying to push his way out of the stadium so he could hear.

The crowd gasped, forcing Wesley to look back at the stage. Rhodes' suit had its gun focused on Tony's face. Wesley froze, confused, and then the drones all leveled their weapons at Tony. Was this Hammer, was he jealous enough and _stupid_ enough to try to take out his rival right there? No, _no,_ no one would be that reckless, not to make a point and show off, not with innocent _people…_

Tony took off, and then all of the guns were going off and glass was tumbling down onto the crowd below. Wesley ducked his head, phone pressed to his ear as he pushed toward the exit. He didn't care about staying calm or finding Pepper and Natalie. He needed to get out and help Tony. He needed to know he was safe.

"'Yello," Tony said, voice barely audible above the people around Wesley. The robots were crashing through the crowd, causing further panic. "Y'know, now's not a _great_ time, Wesley, lemme call you back—"

" _Stay safe!"_ Wesley shouted, partly because the people around him were deafening and partly because he could not lose Tony because he decided to go out with a bang. "I can't let you die before we find a cure!"

"Love the sentiment, but been there, done that, got a new reactor."

" _What?!"_

"Look, Wes, kinda busy right now, but we'll pick this up later. Try to find out where Ivan Vanko is, that moron Hammer faked his death or something—"

"He's not dead?"

"Nope. Okaygottagogettingfiredatbye."

Wesley stared at his phone after Tony hung up, then set his shoulders and forced his way back through the crowd. He needed to get backstage and demand answers from Justin Hammer.

Wesley reached backstage in time to see Hammer try to bluster Pepper and Natalie away. Natalie slammed him into a desk and demanded answers before stalking away.

"Stay with Ms. Potts. Use your gun if you have to," she ordered Wesley as she stalked past, looking like fire and fury pressed into human shape.

Wesley stared after her, wondering how the hell she knew about his gun.

Wesley stayed close as Pepper took command of the situation, doling out orders and trying to clean up Hammer's mess. Natalie hacked the system remotely (how on _earth_ did she know how to do this?) and linked all of their communications. Pepper's shoulders slumped in relief when she heard Tony's voice, only to tense when Tony let slip that he was no longer dying.

Wesley smothered his relief— _thank heaven,_ Tony wasn't going to die (yet)—as he recalled that Pepper had not known. Which meant he spent the next few minutes being interrogated once it came out that yes, Tony had told him, and yes, Tony had asked him to keep it secret, and _yes,_ he had listened to Tony when _clearly_ his judgment was compromised.

Of course, Hammer then attempted to reassert himself while Pepper was distracted, resulting in her commanding him to "just _step back_ before I lose my mind." He looked like he wanted to argue, but changed his mind when Wesley casually displayed the handgun he had hidden under his suit.

Things were a lot calmer once the police took him away.

* * *

Wesley sat in the crowd as Tony received a medal for saving everyone at the Expo. If nothing else, he appreciated that nothing was exploding, no one was being smeared across the media, no one was dying. Senator Stern having give Tony the medal was just a cherry on top.

In all, Wesley supposed they had done reasonably well. Tony had managed to turn things around at the last second. He had saved himself _and_ discovered a new element he named 'vibranium' (it was amazing he hadn't called it 'tonistarkium'). He had also patched things up with Pepper, and had vowed with sincerity in his eyes to keep his forward momentum.

Admittedly, Wesley felt a little ruffled that he hadn't kept better tabs on the SHIELD situation. To be fair, he _had_ been dealing with a dying and desperate Tony Stark, and he _had_ sensed something was off with Natalie (who on earth actually expected to be investigated by a _super spy?)_ Wesley felt satisfied promising himself that he would do better next time, because there probably _would_ be a next time with Tony.

Wesley smiled and clapped as Stern pinned the medal to Tony's chest. The three men posed for a photo, Tony raising his hand in his signature peace sign. Wesley would be sure to get a copy of the picture, if only for the triumph of capturing the look of utter repugnance in Senator Stern's eyes.


	3. aliens

_AN James Wesley has 99 problems and Tony Stark is ALL OF THEM. But Wesley loves these problems. And he loves Tony. He is a good friend._

* * *

 **iii.**

"Mr. Stark, I see that the Stark Tower is once again up and running," Wesley said, watching the building from his hotel window. As much as Wesley ardently hated being in New York for more than a short layover, he had to admit it was a beautiful skyline. One that would be completely changed by Stark Industries' clean power program.

"Yep, worked like a charm. Uh, I was calling for a different reason, though."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, Agent Coulson just dropped by."

"What did he ask you about?" Wesley said, keeping the dread from his voice.

Tony had been working comfortably as a consultant for SHIELD for a few months now (he pretended to be miffed about being denied entrance to the Avengers Initiative, but Wesley knew he liked being able to help), but Agent Coulson had always stayed courteously within business hours. Appearing this late was…unusual.

"Apparently SHIELD has been staying busy. He hacked my security system to give me some homework. Well, more fieldtrip than homework."

"He hacked the—" Wesley pinched the bridge of his nose. He had liked Agent Coulson, he had liked him a lot. He wrangled Tony into working and he was delightfully efficient. Wesley wasn't sure he liked him as much now that he had started making trouble. "What has he asked you to do?"

"The Avengers Initiative is apparently back on," Tony said casually. "Some alien tech or something has disappeared. Seems dangerous."

That shouldn't have sounded so reasonable. Alien anything should not have sounded reasonable.

"What are you going to do?"

"Go check it out. From what he gave me, it doesn't seem they know just what exactly they're up against."

"Do _you?_ " Wesley asked. The urge to run over to Stark Tower before Tony did anything dangerous was growing by the second, and Wesley let himself walk toward the door, ready to grab his wallet at any second. This was a change in how things worked, he distantly realized. Four years ago, before Iron Man, Wesley would have already been braving the New York City traffic to help his employer. Now he was waiting to be asked before he offered assistance. That was unusual for a fixer of his caliber.

"Not really." Tony's voice didn't sound glib. "But when has my input ever _not_ been valued?"

"Alright…so you are going to help them? To consult," Wesley said, unable to resist extra emphasis on the last word. He had had enough near death scares with Tony, he couldn't handle another one.

"Yeah, sure, I'll do whatever they need help with. Who knows, if I'm not busy I might even get Captain America's autograph."

"Captain America…?" That brought Wesley up short. He frowned, playing back Tony's words to tell if he was joking. There was an edge of pointed casualness, the kind Tony only used when he was trying not to show he was bothered by something. What did he have against the old national icon?

"Yeah, you know, World War II, star-spangled man with a plan, my dad's favorite pet project," Tony said, voice returning to its usual breeziness. "Apparently they found him on ice a little while ago."

 _Captain America?_ He had died in Germany before the war ended, how had SHIELD—

"Anyway, I gotta finish reading up on this. Oh, and Pep's headed back to DC tonight, she'll probably call you in a sec, but start packing your bags. Talk at you later."

"Mr. Stark, hold on a second!"

"Yeah?"

"Please, stay safe. I don't look forward to training a new employer if there are complications."

"Yeah, sure, you know I always do. See ya later."

Wesley huffed out a sigh and shook his head. Terrorists. Secret government agencies. Aliens. Captain America. Things had only begun to amp up in the last four years. Wesley wasn't sure he wanted to see where they were in ten.

He turned back to face the window, tapping his phone against his palm.

Pepper had been with Tony that night, so undoubtedly she knew what he was up to. Wesley needed to prepare a story in case Tony was injured doing who knew what, contact someone for solid figures on Stark Tower's clean power, tell the hotel in DC about checking in a night early, call the newspaper about the successful switch over, look into Captain America, just out of curiosity…

Wesley paused, phone halfway to his palm.

Tony had called Wesley about his plans.

This was progress.

* * *

Pepper's smile was tired when Wesley let her in.

"How was Tony when you left?" Wesley asked, cutting the niceties short. He had asked her to stop by his room before turning in for the night. He needed more information about what was going on. This probably wasn't anything he could do anything about, but he at least wanted to know what kind of danger Tony was putting himself in.

"Worried. Some of the files I saw…this looks serious, Wesley."

That was exactly what he had been dreading.

"How bad?"

"Well," she sighed, running a knuckle over her eyebrow, "there was a lot of exploding."

"I thought he was a _consultant._ "

"I think this is an emergency. A lot of what I saw were only files on the other Avenger candidates, not what the actual issue is. It's just…it looks crazy," Pepper told him as she dropped into a chair. Simply speaking about it seemed to drain her. "Everyone they're considering…it doesn't seem real."

"What are they like?"

"Well…there's Captain America, for one."

"I thought he was joking about that," Wesley sighed. He sank into a seat next to her. This was feeling far more real than it had a little while ago.

"Uhm, then there's the Hulk—"

"The guy that attacked Harlem?"

"Seems so. And then someone going by the name 'Thor', I think it was? There was a lot to process from just one glance."

"And with Mr. Stark added in…"

"I know, it sounds like a mess."

Wesley gave a thin smile to keep from wholeheartedly agreeing. That many big personalities in one room...Wesley hoped this problem would be sorted out fast, if only to avoid their heroes having a falling out.

"Do you think he'll be alright?"

"I don't know, Wesley," Pepper told him. "I get so nervous just thinking about it. I mean, all of the stuff they've been handling by themselves seems huge. Tony with Obadiah and the Ten Rings, then Vanko and Hammer, that's insane. Then it gets even crazier with the stuff about the Hulk, monsters and scientific mutations, and _Captain America?_ He was fighting _Nazis_ when he was alive, or at least the last time he was seen because I guess he's still around, and I—"

Pepper put her head in her hands. When she spoke her words were muffled.

"I'm scared, Wesley. I'm really scared Tony's bitten off more than he can chew."

"Well, he's not fighting this…" Alien technology. Pepper clearly had no idea he was fighting _alien technology,_ and Wesley was going to keep it that way, "…by himself. All of those people are his allies, Captain America, the Hulk, and everything else SHIELD has at its disposal. It'll be okay."

"And you're sure? You can tell me that you're _certain_ he's going to be alright."

Wesley couldn't promise that. He couldn't promise anything. Pepper had put a fine point on something he had been grappling with for the last hour; this, like so much these days, was far, far beyond Wesley's realm of control. He could help from his end, but Tony again was fighting forces no normal man could face alone.

"Mr. Stark has faced more than virtually any man I know."

"Yeah but—"

" _Pepper,_ " Wesley said, raising his hands. "Do you know what I was doing before I began working for Mr. Stark?"

"You were in Hong Kong, right? Working with some big corporation, for the CEO or something? Weren't that in oil?"

"They were in everything," he chuckled. "And my position before that was...closer to organized crime than is advisable."

Pepper straightened, blinking in surprise. "I, uh, I...I had no idea."

"It's not something I advertise. But...I saw a lot while in the more...unsavory side of business. A _lot_ of bad things. Tony has managed more than any of that."

"That's not a fair scale," Pepper said, shaking her head. "That...whatever that bad stuff was, that's not like _terrorists_ and _mad scientists_ and...whatever this is. This is bigger than Tony, Wesley, and I'm afraid for him."

"He's pulled through before. And we don't even know if he'll be fighting this time. Don't give yourself reasons to worry before anything happens."

"Yeah," she said, forcing out another smile. Clearly neither one of them believed his advice.

They sat in silence for a moment before Wesley forced himself to smile at her. "Would you like a drink or anything before you turn in?"

Pepper rubbed her face and stood. "No, I'm good. I honestly need to get to bed. I was going to fly to DC tonight, but I'm just so exhausted I can't even focus well enough to finish packing my bags—"

"We don't have to leave tonight," Wesley said, walking with her to the door. "I wanted to speak to you before we changed any of the travel information. We can still leave tomorrow. Get some rest. This is going to be a long couple of days."

"No, you're right. Tony's already left, so I don't need to worry about him putting things off…okay, well, then, we'll leave same time as planned. I'll tell Happy, and we'll…make it through as usual."

Wesley smiled at her and waved Pepper off. That's what they did, the three of them. They waited out the chaos that was Tony Stark, and then they fixed everything up when he was done. And even though he hadn't caused this particular nightmare, they would still wait it out. They always did.

* * *

" _Who_ all has been recruited for this initiative?" Wesley asked, lip only slightly wrinkled as he buttoned up his shirt.

Tony sighed, sending static through the speaker. "Well, there's me, the dear captain like I mentioned—and I really don't get the preoccupation with this guy, he's got the American dream shoved so far up his ass he can barely relax, what kind of hero is _that—_ our Ms. 'Rushman', but I think she's just there to make us play nice, Dr. Bruce Banner, and then some guy who is apparently Thor."

"That's a little pretentious. But I suppose if you're working with _Captain America,_ it's alright to name yourself after the god," Wesley said, belting up his pants.

"No, he's it. He is _the Thor._ "

Wesley actually stopped belting up his pants to shoot his phone a disbelieving look.

" _Yeah,_ I know. Not entirely certain _what_ he is, I guess he's an alien or something. Kinda sends the whole world view into a tailspin, you know? Is there a 'God', is there _not_ a 'God', if there is, is He _this_ god…either way, this guy's tougher than sin and can shoot lightning with his hammer. Found that out the fun way, though it only charged up the suit—"

"He shot you with _lightning?"_

 _"_ Only a little bit. But apparently it's his brother Loki causing all of this drama, being the god of mischief and all. We've got him under lock and key now, but it just feels too... _easy_. This guy is a whack job to rule all whack jobs, and he wants to. Someone that powerful...I dunno, I can't wrap my head around him. Just the fact that he _exists_ is throwing me off. I mean, I can handle secret government sects, advanced weaponry, hell, even aliens! But this Norse god guy leading a swarm of aliens to take over Earth…that's pushing me a little too far."

Wesley stood still for a moment, hands hovering midway through tying a full Windsor. Gods were leading aliens to take over the planet? It was a ridiculous idea, utterly and completely ridiculous, a conspiracy theorist's _dream._ But...Wesley heard the exhaustion in Tony's voice, meaning his genius brain had tested the facts in every way he could think of. And _still_ they remained true.

Part of it was terrifying because it grossly redefined Wesley's understanding the world. But part of it was terrifying because Tony was in the middle of it. They had already captured Loki, so Wesley imagined there had been _some_ sort of brawl between them (Wesley fully planned on scanning the internet for video of the showdown Tony had mentioned in Germany. He told himself it was to cover all his bases. He had a feeling it was because he was a masochist.). Clearly this consulting job was far more interactive than Wesley had been led to believe.

He drew in a breath and kept the shake out of his voice when he asked, "I don't recognize one of people you mentioned. Dr. Banner…he's familiar, was he a colleague of yours?"

"Oh, yeah. He's the Hulk."

"Of course he is. I'm assuming that he's a little _less_ than incredible?"

"Yeah, been trying to figure that out. Mostly he's about as threatening as a substitute math teacher, but he's _damn_ smart. Can't wait until we get this whole thing sorted and I get him over to Stark Tower, he'd love it."

Wesley sighed and mentally added upping the insurance on everything (a lot) to his to-do list.

"Anyway, just wanted to check in. We're doing top secret science-y stuff, so I'll spare you the exact details."

"I appreciate it," Wesley smiled, holding his phone between his ear and his shoulder as he put on his shoes.

After Wesley had been officially brought into Tony's inner sanctum, Tony had chattered on endlessly about virtually everything 'science-y' that he found interesting. It had taken an hour long excited ramble about the possible mechanics of space colonization for Wesley to finally put his foot down and ask Tony to please, _please_ spare him the details. Tony had looked surprised, but the passionate tirades about science had stopped.

"Everything okay on your end?"

"Yes, I've made the arrangements for the clean energy project, and I have… _adjusted some factors_ now that you're off consulting."

Tony snorted, and Wesley could just imagine him shaking his head. "Wesley, I love how you phrase things. Don't let anyone tell you different."

Wesley smiled, stowing the compliment away for later. Tony heaved another sigh, the bone weariness bleeding through yet again.

"I'll let you know if anything else comes up. Kiss Pepper for me."

"That's outside of my job description."

"Sure, sure. Keep yourself safe, Wes."

"You as well, Mr. Stark," Wesley said, breath catching yet again at the thought of the nightmare they were teetering toward.

"Will do. Talk at you later," Tony said, then hung up.

"God help us all," Wesley whispered. He stowed his phone in his pocket, slipped on his suit jacket, picked up his bag, then left the hotel.

* * *

The alien army had come. Death and destruction fell from the sky. Tony was in the middle of it. Wesley watched in horror from a plane as the news footage played out, showing every hideous detail.

He had seen alien movies, had heard the twisted conspiracy theories, had considered contingencies for worst case scenarios. Nothing helped prepare him for what he was seeing now.

It was worse than Tony being kidnapped by terrorists. It was worse than 9/11. It was worse than Katrina. Humanity was suddenly put on a scale so hilariously beyond their understanding, and all he could do was watch. All anyone could do was watch. Except for six small people, fighting and fighting to keep the world safe.

Buildings were destroyed. Bridges collapsed. Manhattan was bit by bit being ground into the dust.

"Wesley," Pepper whispered, the words barely making it past her fingers. She couldn't drag her eyes from the screen. "Wesley, what's happening?"

Everyone in the cabin turned to him. Pepper, her executive assistant, the two other lawyers on the plane, everyone. He swallowed, struggling between the things he did and didn't know. He was supposed to make things better. Telling her of gods and the abrupt, infinitesimal nature of humanity would do nothing to help. Saying he had no idea if they would be able to win would do nothing to help. So he put a hand on Pepper's arm, looked her in the eye, and lied.

"I don't know what's going on. But it's going to be okay. And Tony's going to be okay, too."

She held his hand with both of hers. He didn't comment on how much they shook.

* * *

" _Tony,_ " Wesley sighed, almost weak from relief.

He had been calling every fifteen minutes for at least the last hour, _needing_ to know that Tony was alright. He'd seen the unsettling newsreel of what looked like the Iron Man suit falling from the sky, and he hadn't been able to breathe freely until he heard Tony's voice.

Pepper's eyes widened and she stepped toward him impulsively, hands half raised to take the phone from him. Wesley raised a hand to gesture that Tony was safe and that he would pass the phone over in a moment.

"Wesley, good to hear you. You and Pepper okay?"

"Yes, we're fine, we're in the hotel in DC. We saw your missed call from the middle of the battle and then some news footage showed you falling—"

"I'm okay now."

When was he _ever_ okay?

"Me and the team are rewarding ourselves with shwarma now after the big win. We're headed over right now."

"I expect a full review when you get back," Wesley said, already marshaling himself. Now that he knew Tony was safe he could focus on clean up. New York was in ruins, and it would take millions to get it back on its feet again.

"No prob. Just wanted to check in, though, let you guys know I've got all my fingers and toes and vital organs."

Wesley smiled and leaned against a table. "That's certainly a miracle."

"You have no idea," Tony sighed. "Here, pass the phone to Pepper, I wanna hear her voice."

"Of course," he said.

Wesley handed Pepper his cellphone, and the two of them couldn't help but share a smile of relief.


	4. mutants

_AN_ _look i wrote this before civil war so there are Some Things in here that's just gonna twist the knife. i know. it's rough. i didn't intend this, but here we are._

 _(but seriously who am i kidding I WROTE THIS CHAPTER TO HURT.)_

* * *

 **iv.**

"Mr. Stark."

"Mm, yeah? Wes, could you make it snappy, I'm kinda busy at the second."

Wesley trailed after Tony as he swung through the main floor of the mansion. Tony normally moved in a flurry, with purpose. Now he was almost frenetic, picking things up, putting them down, glancing over them for two seconds before tossing them aside.

"Mr. Stark, might I ask what you're looking for?"

"I dunno, just making sure I didn't leave anything before I went back downstairs."

"Before you go, there are some things—"

"Seriously, Wesley, I've got _maaaaybe_ two minutes before I need to get downstairs and keep my science-y science stuff from overheating."

"Then after you keep your ' _science-y_ ' stuff from exploding, could we talk?" Wesley asked, hurrying after Tony to the workshop.

"Uh, melting, actually. It'd melt. Through the table, through the floor, through the bedrock, probably." Tony opened the workshop door and swung in, leaving it to nearly close on Wesley.

Wesley let out a sigh through his nose, trying to unclench his teeth. Speaking to Tony had become impossible the last few days. Last couple of weeks, if he was being honest. He had become almost myopic since Manhattan.

Since handing the company over to Pepper, Tony had played an active part in R&D, inventing and creating new things to help the company switch over to clean energy. Now he had turned his tinkering toward SHIELD's aims, or rather, the Avengers'. Tony still distrusted Fury and his methods, but he gladly helped his new unwieldy team. It was the only thing he seemed willing to do.

Tony channeled his restless energy to his desk, focus laser hot as he worked. Wesley watched for a few moments, then pressed closer.

"Mr. Stark…I've received some alarming reports about your activities."

"Yeah? Like what?" Tony asked, not looking up from his work.

"Like you not sleeping."

"Okay, _that's_ not dramatic." Tony gave Wesley a face as he rifled through a tray, hands skittering over tools.

"JARVIS has informed me that your sleep schedule has turned erratic. You're not sleeping a solid five hours more than once every couple of days, you're consuming frankly _horrifying_ amounts of caffeine, constantly running dangerous tests…"

"See, you say that like it's a _new_ thing."

"I say that like you've never done it more than a week straight, which you haven't. When was the last time you slept, Mr. Stark?"

"I don't know, _when I slept last?_ You gonna march me up to bed and tuck me in?"

"I'm not above it."

"See, Jarv, this is why we have a no snitch policy in this house," Tony said, raising his voice as though JARVIS hadn't heard the whole conversation.

" _Mr. Wesley inquired about your health and I simply answered his question. Everything I told him could have been concluded from basic observation."_

 _"_ Which I don't need because I'm a grown man. You know," Tony said, finally pausing in his work, "this is kind of why I bought myself a great big house and haven't asked you to stay with me; so I can be alone."

"Which is why Ms. Potts moved in several months ago."

"Yeah, but she's not mother henning me every other second, _so_."

Wesley let out another sigh. This was not good. This was not good on at least a dozen levels, and Tony's stonewalling didn't help. It wasn't like when he had been dying of heavy metal toxicity, there was no desperate, terrified edge to his voice. He wasn't quietly begging Wesley for help. He trying to shoo Wesley away before he noticed too much.

"Is there anything I can help with, Mr. Stark?" Wesley asked, softening his voice to show this wasn't a perfunctory question. Tony watched him for a few long moments, studying Wesley in a way he didn't have to.

"No," he said faintly. "I don't think so."

Wesley left the workshop.

"Keep me updated on Mr. Stark's condition," he told JARVIS as he climbed the steps. "I don't like where this is going. I want to head anything off before it becomes huge."

Wesley unlocked his phone and called Pepper before he left the mansion. He waited as it rang, stalking through the ridiculously bright sunlight to his car. It was after _Thanksgiving,_ and yet it felt like July, as always. Normally, Wesley was at peace with Malibu (pretentious and sprawling as it was, it wasn't the cluttered hellhole called New York), but sometimes the pervasive heat made him crave his native Seattle.

"Hello, Wesley?"

"Ms. Potts, hello. I was just calling about Tony."

"Oh? What has he done now?" she asked, using that no nonsense CEO voice he liked so much.

"Nothing, to my knowledge, I was just concerned about some of his living habits."

"Like what?" Her voice became a touch more worried. Questions about Tony's wellbeing flagged everyone's full attention, now.

"He's not sleeping," Wesley sighed, buckling and turning on the damn AC. "I tried asking him about it, but he deflected. He seemed…chaotic, though. At first I thought he couldn't focus on anything, but when we got down into the workshop all of his attention was on his latest project."

"That doesn't sound good," Pepper hummed. "Have you noticed anything else?"

"No. That was why I was calling you. Has he seemed…off?"

"Well…I don't know. I want to say no, he's just been obsessed with whatever he's working on for the Avengers or SHIELD, but he hasn't seemed _bad._ Certainly not palladium poisoning bad."

"No," he said. His chest tightened at the way she pressed back the fear from her voice. So she had noticed things, too. "No, I think this is something…in his head. Every time I turn around he seems to be making something new. I have to wonder if Fury's war mongering hasn't gotten to him."

"Well, it's not really war mongering if war _was_ attempted," Pepper pointed out.

Wesley grimaced. Stark Industries had channeled endless resources into the Manhattan reconstruction project. Months had gone by, but still the world felt wounded. Aliens made everyone reconsider things. Wesley hadn't missed how SHIELD conveniently stepped in to fill the gaps that suddenly existed everywhere. The World Security Council that governed SHIELD certainly knew how to play the game.

"Still. Keep an eye on him," Wesley said. "It doesn't help that Happy has been paranoid since he was appointed head of security. He's probably fanning the flames of whatever this is every time he speaks to Tony."

"He's trying to feel useful," Pepper said. "I mean, when I brought up the promotion he told me that he'd been thinking about changing jobs since the Avengers were announced. He knew before the rest of us that Iron Man doesn't need a body guard. Everyone kind of viewed Tony like a cartoon hero, but then after Manhattan…"

"It changed the game."

Wesley had also felt the pressure Happy was feeling. The fact had been at the back of his mind as he watched the hole in the sky through a newsfeed, had slowly constricted around Wesley's gut as he realized his job of fixing things would almost impossible in its entirety. But that was the difference between him and Happy. Iron Man still needed problems to be patched up and smoothed over. He didn't need a good chauffeur and a solid right hook.

"And it doesn't help the Ten Rings have come back," Pepper whispered, like saying their name might bring them down on their heads. Wesley's grip tightened on the steering wheel.

The terrorist group had been largely silent over the last six years. After the annihilation of the cell that had captured Tony, they had disappeared. They had slunk into the shadows as the war on terror took a more aggressive, personal, red and gold form. But they had reared up yet again, running anti-West campaigns and slaughtering western supporters in the Middle East. The alleged Mandarin had yet to identify Tony as a threat or a target, but that didn't mean much. They could have been ignoring his existence as easily as they could have been planning a surprise attack. Wesley just hoped Tony had been too busy with his incessant tinkering to notice.

"They're not going to try anything," Wesley said, in spite of his own fears. "Tony's bigger than a large ransom and an information cache, now. He's in another league. They may be insane enough to ignore the sky falling down, but they're not insane enough to try destroying one of the people that saved the earth."

"I don't know," Pepper said. "They were quiet before they kidnapped Tony. What're they going to do now that they have the world's attention?"

"We can't dwell on that."

"You're right. You're right," Pepper said, dragging in a breath. He could practically see her putting on her sleek, capable, business veneer. "Anyway, I've got a meeting in a few minutes and I still need to review some things, so I'll let you go."

"Of course," Wesley said. No one thought about Pepper, now that Tony Stark had become less interesting than his mechanical counterpart. Which was a shame, considering the woman beside him was also clad in iron.

* * *

Wesley's phone jerked him from sleep. He fumbled for a moment, disoriented as the phone hummed and chimed at him. He answered the call, eyes barely registering Tony's name on the mini supernova that was the screen.

"Hello?" he grunted, pressing a hand over his eyes (it did _not_ help smother the image burned into his retinas). "Mr. Stark, what—what is it, what do you need?"

"Holy shit, Wesley, I messed up. I'm messed up. I don't even—this wasn't supposed to happen. I mean, I thought I was bad after Afghanistan, after the Ten Rings got ahold of me, but now they're back and it's like my life is falling apart all over again. But this didn't happen last time, I didn't lose _my damn mind._ It happened at the bar but that was a one off thing, right? With the crayon and creepy Ralphie Parker kid asking me how I didn't die—"

"Mr. Stark—"

"—but then I told Pepper what's going on and that's supposed to make things better, right, talking's supposed to stop whatever crap you're dealing with but now—holy shit I could have killed her, I could have killed Pepper and I wasn't even awake, what am I _doing—_ "

" _Tony,_ " Wesley said, propping himself up on one elbow. He didn't feel tired now. He felt afraid. "Tony, tell me what's wrong. What happened?"

"You were right," he gasped, his voice scared and small through the speaker. "You had me pegged from the beginning, I've got issues and sleeping doesn't help, I just see it over and over and I can't do anything. Fix it, Wesley, please, tell me how to make things better."

"Tony," Wesley repeated, making his voice calm even though his heart was screaming in his chest. This didn't sound like Tony. It didn't sound like him when he was angry or dodging missiles or trying to outstrip metal poisoning. Wesley sat up straight, forcing himself to be collected and self-assured even as his life tumbled around him. "Breathe. Take a moment and just breathe. Stop talking. Are you breathing?"

"…Yeah."

"Okay. What happened?"

"I—I was having—I called the suit in my sleep and when Pepper tried to wake me up…it viewed her as a threat."

Wesley was half out of bed before Tony could finish. His heart froze for a terrible second as he processed the last few words. "Did anything happen? Do I need to come over there?"

"No, _no,_ she's fine. I powered the suit down, she's fine. She's—she's downstairs, sleeping on couch. But I could have killed her and never even—"

"Tony, no, listen to me. Tell me what else happened. Why did you call the suit in your sleep, what are you not saying?" Wesley finished standing up and hurried to his closet, fumbling in the dark for a shirt and pants.

"I keep seeing it," he whispered, voice dropping from a panicked ramble to a horrified whisper. "I flew into that wormhole and I keep seeing it. I carried a nuke on my back and I died to save everyone."

Holy fuck.

"And that's happening every time you close your eyes?" Wesley breathed, hand frozen on the sleeve of a shirt.

It made sense now. The lack of sleep, the obsessive need to make more weapons, make more _protection_ , Wesley now realized. That was why he had turned away everything not relating to SHIELD, not relating to the world's literal defense...

"Yeah. Every time I go to sleep, I see it. The aliens, the army, the explosion, me falling…Wesley, I see it all."

"Have you told anyone else?" he said, letting go of the shirt sleeve.

"Pepper. Kind of. Not really. She knows I can't sleep, I came clean to her about that. But I couldn't just—I couldn't say it out loud. The words wouldn't come, I couldn't make myself—"

"It's okay, Tony. It's—"

" _No._ Don't just tell me that, Wesley, please, for the love of anything, don't tell me that 'cuz I'm freaking you out. I need you mean it, you can't lie to me right now."

"Tony. It's okay. People deal with things like this all the time."

"If you say 'trauma', I swear, I'm going to lose it," Tony warned, a borderline hysteric laugh in his voice. "I'm sitting here in a cold sweat with the pieces of my suit laying around me, and if you say _anything_ about trauma, I'm going to lose my mind."

"No, Tony," Wesley said. "I'm not going to say it."

"Okay," he said, voice turning uncertain. This was where he started pulling back in on himself. This was where Tony regained his senses and retreated to someplace safe. "Okay, good."

They were quiet a few moments, breathing into the phone and wondering what to do next. Wesley stood there in the mouth of his closet, torn. His gut was screaming that he needed to get over to the mansion _right now,_ but he couldn't bring himself to move. Tony didn't need human touch just then, not when he was jittery and on edge. He needed calm, he needed an anchor, he needed something to keep him balanced, even if it was just a voice through a phone.

Tony had been dealing with all of this alone, as usual, and it scared him more than death. Death was obvious, death was unavoidable, death wasn't special. Neither one of them could count how many times Tony had brushed against various forms of death. But now the genius, charming, show-stopping Tony Stark was suffering through something that geniuses, charmers, and show-stoppers weren't supposed to face.

"Don't hang up," Tony whispered. "I can't—it's a bad idea for me to be alone in my head right now."

"Of course. I'll stay here as long as you need me to."

Wesley left the closet as they continued speaking, threading his way through the apartment to the counter. He poured himself a glass of water and sat down, letting Tony's anxiety play itself out.

"I just—it's unfair to Pepper," Tony admitted. "I mean, it looks like she's got it so good, I clean up my act, I fix the palladium poisoning, but then _this_ happens and it just—it's like I'm always going to be broken. Why doesn't she just leave, why doesn't she go find someone like _Aldrich Killian_ or something?"

"Aldrich Killian?" Wesley asked, frowning.

"This…I don't even know what he is. He was a nobody. I met him thirteen years ago, self-starter that shouldn't have gotten off the ground."

"But he's back now?"

It wasn't often things from Tony's past resurfaced. In the eight years Wesley had worked for him, nothing managed to catch up to Tony's whirling dervish of a life.

"Yeah," Tony said bitterly. "He's here and he's got nice teeth and cutting edge technology and a big company and she'd be _fine_ with him. He's got everything I have, just without the damage."

"Pepper doesn't want to be fine," Wesley said, partly because that was what he was supposed to say and partly because it was the truth. "No one stays here because they want 'fine'. It doesn't exist with you."

"Yeah, it's either opulence or insanity."

"Often both."

There was another moment of silence, then Wesley cleared his throat. "Would you…like me to call in Reina until things get settled?"

"No, I don't need her to see me like this."

"She was your nanny for _six years._ I doubt you could surprise her by this point."

Tony was quiet, and then, "Yeah, maybe. See if…see if she can come up on weekends or something. She can, I don't know, vacuum and sweep or something, make her feel useful."

Wesley had always thought how profoundly sad it was that the closest thing Tony had to a mother's touch was his old nanny. But now he was more taken by how tragic it was that Tony always needed to appear strong.

"I'll see what can be done."

"Okay. Okay, thanks. And James?"

"Yes?"

"Thank you for—y'know, for staying. I get that you could be off somewhere else with someone easier. I poached you away from your old job in Hong Kong, I get that. And I know I always say that I did because your old boss spilled a drink on my shoes, but…really, I knew how good you were from the beginning. Don't think I don't value—that I don't get—I'm just glad you're here, okay?"

Wesley smiled and leaned back in the bar stool. They both knew Wesley probably would have been helping some crime boss solidify his hold over a city or area or country had Tony not scooped him up. His life could have been so, so very different.

"I didn't come because you doubled my paycheck," Wesley said, and he could have sworn he heard Tony smile.

* * *

The hospital room felt so _sterile._ The machines hooked up to Happy beeped and hummed and took up space, constantly reminding them that he was not okay. Tony stuffed himself into the corner, while Pepper sat at Happy's side and Wesley stood at the foot of his bed.

"What was he even _doing_ there?" Pepper asked, probably for the tenth time. "He doesn't even _like_ the Chinese Theater. Why would he…why was _anyone_ there? How could someone look at that and think it's a good target for…?"

Wesley was glad she didn't finish the sentence. Mentioning the Ten Rings just then would have felt like sacrilege. Tony shifted in the corner like he felt the thought in the air, haunting him with every breath he took.

Wesley didn't know what to do. He felt out of place at the foot of Happy's bed, waiting and worrying. He didn't particularly _like_ Happy outside of the cordial working relationship he strove to maintain with all of his associates. He wasn't like Pepper, where Wesley would gladly grab a drink with her after the day had ended (probably because Pepper liked quiet, upscale places, while Happy preferred somewhere with hot wings and sports on a big screen). Just days ago he had been criticizing Happy's zeal at defending Stark Industries.

And now there he stood while Happy lay almost dead.

Wesley had done what he always did; he personally fixed things while keeping the problem at arm's length. He arranged for Happy to get a private room in the hospital, banned the media from the building, contacted both FBI and SHIELD agents, alerted Happy's parents and two sisters of what had happened, then paid for their plane tickets (hearing Happy's mother try to laugh through her fear had been an unexpected gut punch, the words ' _merry Christmas'_ ringing so ironic and false).

He couldn't heal Happy, but he could make things better. Slightly.

"Are you going back to work?" Tony asked softly. He had been almost catatonic since Wesley had walked into the room. He just sat there and stared at the tv screen. Downton Abbey was playing, which Wesley vaguely recalled as one of Happy's favorites.

Pepper glanced at Wesley, unsure who Tony as addressing. She took a leap and said, "Yes, for a little while. I ran out of the office as soon as I heard, but there's still some things…I'll be back at the house soon, though. I don't…I don't think I can work after this."

She bit her lip and stood. Pepper glanced at Wesley for reassurance, then edged a little closer to Tony.

"We can sit on the couch and watch a movie or something," she continued. "Reina can take the night off, I'll make popcorn, and we'll just…wait it out."

Tony gave a dull nod. Pepper glanced at Wesley again, silently begging for him to step in and offer advice. He looked away. He was just as lost as her.

"Well, I should...I'll get going, then," Pepper whispered. She touched Tony on the shoulder, then left the hospital room.

Wesley turned to face Tony, feeling that he had to say something as well. What _could_ he say, though? The Ten Rings had stabbed out, somehow yet again injuring the cobbled together Stark team. Happy was unconscious, Tony was barely there, Pepper was anxious, and Wesley was off center. This wasn't supposed to happen. After all the safe guards and precautions that had been taken, _no one_ was supposed to be able to hurt Tony Stark like this. No one other than Tony himself.

This was a new kind of helpless, one that legal documents and money and suits of armor couldn't prevent.

"Mr. Stark…"

"It shoulda been me," Tony said, eyes still on the screen.

"I—excuse me?"

"It shoulda been me," he repeated. "If someone here should have been hurt by the Ten Rings, it should have been me. If I'd just _died_ in that cave—"

"That's ridiculous," Wesley said firmly. "This wasn't a strike against _you._ They attacked a public place. This was propaganda. Happy…he might have been there regardless."

Tony rubbed his face with his hands. "That's really not doing a lot for me right now, Wes."

"I know," Wesley sighed. "It's not doing a lot for anyone."

Tony leaned forward on his elbows and gave Wesley a long look. "How do you do that?"

"Do what, sir?"

"Stay so damn… _composed._ I just…I'm not…how do you do that? Ever since I first met you, you've been polished every second, always on stage. I've never seen you just… _lose it._ "

"In my experience, the few people that refuse to lose it are that much more valuable when everyone else does."

Tony scoffed out a laugh and shook his head. "Everything's business, everything's about the best edge. What about those pierced ears, those a calculated risk?"

Wesley managed to crack a smile. Of course Tony had noticed the single hole Wesley had had poked into his ears as a teenager. Nothing escaped his notice.

"The only calculated risk there was trusting the piercing gun not to give me a disease."

Tony smiled and leaned back in his chair. The smile lingered for a moment, like Tony had forgotten he was doing it and moved on to thinking about something else.

Wesley cleared his throat gently enough to keep from startling Tony. "Sir, if you need, I can put off my trip to Seattle."

"Hm? No, no, you're…you're leaving in a few hours, right?"

"Yes. I can easily push that back…"

"No, you're fine. You see your mom rarely enough, between work and hiding your home life from the world. Go enjoy some organic coffee and pretentious hippies."

"I believe 'hipsters' are the main inhabitants, now."

"Whatever. Go. Enjoy the rain."

"You're certain?"

"Yeah, sure."

"Do you…need anything else?"

"No. I'm fine. Kiss your mom, wish her merry Christmas for me."

"I'll be sure to do that," Wesley said. "And try to get some rest."

"Yeah, sure thing."

* * *

" _Dammit_ ," Wesley snarled, yanking on his seatbelt as he tried to call Tony. One hour. _One hour_ in which he had left Tony alone, and yet he had managed to issue not only death threats to terrorists, but _also_ deliver his personal address _._ Wesley had naively thought that not even Tony could do something that stupid in so little time. Had it been a month, a few weeks, hell, even a _day,_ Wesley would have certainly worried. Tony had made a robotic suit of armor, kept himself from dying, even _stopped an alien invasion_ in that generous time frame. This was a new record.

Wesley actually growled as Tony didn't answer. He swung out of the parking garage to his apartment, barely biting back the need to race down the cluttered Malibu streets to Tony's mansion.

He had told _terrorists_ where he lived. On television. To a billion news stations. _Anyone_ could use that information now.

"JARVIS, call Tony again," he snapped. He listened to the phone ring out, teeth grinding until he had a headache.

" _Sir, it appears that Mr. Stark does not wish to be contacted. Either he is ignoring his phone or the lines are currently blocked. Given his latest media stunt, I'd imagine everyone who knows the number is trying to speak to him."_

"For damn good reason!" Wesley half-yelled, then reeled himself back in. He needed to calm down. Like he had told Tony earlier, he needed to be the level head when everyone was panicking. He had dealt with terrorists before. That had been worse, much, much worse. Tony had actually been in their possession then. Wesley hadn't known where he was or if he was alive. And even though this was a different cell, it was the same group. Wesley knew how they operated. Things would be okay.

Wesley tried calling three more times before he gave up. He even tried Pepper for good measure, but she didn't respond, either.

"Bring up a newsfeed," he barked, hands clenched tight around the wheel."

" _Any preference, si—"_

"Any about Tony! There must be at least a dozen crews at the mansion right now."

Wesley tore his attention from the road just enough to grab his phone from where he had thrown it into the passenger seat. He fixed it to the dash as JARVIS brought up a news station. His eyes flicked to it compulsively, bouncing between the screen and the road. He sprang around cars, pressing higher and higher above the speed limit.

"…again, Tony Stark personally issued a _death threat_ to the terrorist operating under the name ' _The Mandarin',"_ some news woman was saying. Her extra emphasis on the hot button words made Wesley's blood pressure rise.

He glanced away from an aerial shot of the mansion as he took a corner. He had five, maybe ten minutes before he reached the mansion. Wesley glanced at his speedometer. More likely five minutes. It would be okay, it would be okay, he would be able to reach Tony's mansion and wrestle him bodily away from the danger zone before anything—

"What is that—it looks like a— _oh my gosh_ ," the newswoman said, yanking Wesley's attention back to his phone. "It looks a missile has been fired at Tony Stark's—"

An explosion farther down the road lit sky.

Wesley stopped breathing. The newswoman was still reporting. Her words filtered through the muted booms from Tony's mansion. Smoke plumed against the hideously sunny sky. Her horrified commentary was a few austere seconds behind what was actually happening.

Wesley didn't remember stopping. He didn't remember skidding to a halt in the middle of the road. He didn't remember turning off the news footage. He didn't remember rolling down the window so he could hear and see the destruction better.

He couldn't do anything. He couldn't stop people from firing missiles, he couldn't protect the people he cared about from fire or falling rubble. He couldn't even make himself pretend long enough to keep driving.

Other cars were slowing down, stopping behind him or pulling off to the side of the road. People were getting out of their cars, staring and pointing and talking talking talking.

Wesley stared through the windshield for a few moments, then tore forward, tires screaming as he left black marks on the highway. There had to be something he could do. Someone might have gotten out or…bodies to identify or…something.

Wesley was thankful to find Pepper outside of the smoking mansion. She was there with some other woman, but the moment Wesley locked eyes on her, Pepper was the only thing that mattered. He flung himself from the car and sprinted toward her, yelling questions as he went.

"Wesley!" she gasped, tears and soot smudging her face. "James, it just happened out of nowhere, Wesley, Tony, Tony he—"

" _Are you alright, are you okay?_ " he demanded, nearly knocking her down as he grabbed her by the shoulders. He looked her up and down, searching for blood or bruising. Nothing. She seemed fine. Terrified, but fine.

" _James,_ Tony, he was in the house, there were helicopters firing missiles and—Tony was in the _house."_

Wesley tore his eyes from her face and looked toward the water. His stomach constricted. He couldn't believe that. No matter how possible, how _likely_ —he needed a body. Wesley had to have a body laid before him. He needed proof before he made assumptions.

"James…I don't know what to do."

"I'll take care of it, Pepper. I'll take care of everything."

He turned to the other woman, a tall brunette that had taken more damage than Pepper. She looked rattled and was dabbing at the cut on her forehead like the presence of blood didn't make sense.

"Who is this?" he asked.

"I—I don't know, she just _showed up_ here, she knew Tony, I don't…I don't know, it just went so fast."

"What is your name?" Wesley said, letting go of Pepper and turning to face the woman. She blinked, as though surprised by Wesley's appearance.

"I…what?"

"Name, what is your name."

"M-Maya. My name's Maya."

"Why're you here?"

"I—uhm, I don't, uh...I'm sorry, I just…holy crap, they just…"

Wesley rolled his eyes. He wouldn't be able to get anything out of her until the shock passed. "Stay here. Wait until emergency responders come."

Maya gave a dull nod, then winced as she pressed a hand against her cut. Wesley turned back to Pepper.

"It'll be fine," he said. It was the most gilded lie he knew and Pepper swallowed it every time. She nodded, dragged in a deep breath, let it out. But the exhale came with tears and she was suddenly crying into his shirt.

Wesley clenched his teeth and held her. They would make it through this. They'd done it once before.

* * *

Terrorist attacks left him _useless._ It had been six years, and yet somehow Wesley had neglected to prepare for this happening ever again. Stupid. He was astonishingly stupid. But he put on a good face. He always did. He always, always made things look as good as possible.

Wesley was reluctant to leave Pepper, but once the police, ambulance, and fire department came (apparently they had been on standby since Tony's declaration hit the air), he knew he had to leave. He was there just long enough to clear the police's questions, reassure Pepper, and throw Maya a warning look before he climbed into his car.

He had to get a handle on this. He had to get back to his apartment and dam up as much of this as possible. He couldn't head off the reporters, Tony's home had been _blown up,_ but he needed to do damage control. A statement needed to be made as fast as possible. He had to contact whatever federal agency might be coerced into helping him…do something, then he needed to get ahold of SHIELD. If he had to kick down the doors of Nick Fury himself with a lawsuit, then God as his witness, Wesley would do it. Terrorists might not have grabbed SHIELD's attention, dreadfully boring as they were compared to aliens and gods and WWII icons, but what the hell good were they if they couldn't even take care of their own?

The hours drizzled by. Wesley cleaned up as many mini catastrophes as he could, ensuring all the help as he could muster. He barely noticed that he had missed his flight to Seattle as he stood in his kitchen and argued with some so and so from the FBI.

The most wrenching call had been with Reina. She had phoned the moment she heard the news, terrified but controlled. He hadn't expected much less from a woman who had raised Tony Stark.

"He's such a good boy," she murmured. "I taught him Spanish, you know. He loved learning, though I think he just wanted to know what it was I muttering under my breath sometimes. But after Spanish it was Italian, Portuguese, French…so intelligent, but he doesn't always think things through. That's what got him into trouble this time, isn't it?"

"I believe so."

"He's such a good boy," Reina repeated. "Tell me…tell me when they know if he's…if he's okay, please. I don't think I can stand hearing it from the news."

"Of course, Mrs. Velasquez. You'll be the first person I call."

And on it went. Wesley didn't let himself rest. He couldn't take a moment to think and process just what this meant for him. He couldn't. Wesley couldn't imagine a world, _his_ world without Tony Stark. If one of them were to die, it was always, always, _always_ supposed to be Wesley. He was supposed to make things better, not be left behind.

Wesley was dead on his feet when Pepper called him, but he couldn't sit down.

"Hello?" he said. His voice sounded like little more than a rasp.

"James, he's okay!"

"What?"

"Tony's okay, he left me a message, I heard it in one of the helmets that survived—"

"He's okay?" Wesley repeated, bracing himself against table. "You're sure?"

"I'm sure," she said, laughing through her words. "I'm sure, he's alright. Oh my gosh, it was terrifying to think, but…he's okay."

Wesley sank into a chair, shuddering out a breath. "He's alright. Where is he? _How_ is he? What—"

"I don't know," Pepper said, easing over his questions. "He didn't give me details, he just apologized for not listening to me. I think he was more letting me know he was alright. I mean, there are already papers out about this. Tony Stark, an Avenger attacked on his own turf and presumed dead…it's bad."

"I know."

"Of course, of course you know. You've probably been dealing with it since you left. Right, I forgot. It's just…I don't know, it's been a haze here."

"Get somewhere safe," Wesley told her. He was already pulling himself together, strapping his armor on tight. Wesley hadn't lost his head because he thought Tony had died and he certainly couldn't lose it because he was alive. He had a job to do. Things had to be perfect for when Tony came back.

"Yes, I was just thinking that," Pepper said, still with that tinge of a laugh in her voice. "If nothing else, I need to get somewhere _quiet._ "

"Don't go to any of your usual places. No vacation houses, no hotels you normally choose. You don't have to go to ground, but just…be smart."

"Yes, definitely. I'm going to bring Maya."

"Maya? Why? Have you figured out why she was at the mansion?"

"No," Pepper sighed. She sounded every bit as exhausted as he felt. "But she wanted to get Tony out of there as much as I did, so it makes me think that she knows something. Plus, very few people actually make it to Tony's door without a good reason, so if nothing else her story's going to be interesting."

"Alright," Wesley said, adding a background check on this Maya woman to his already lengthy list. "Be careful, Pepper. We don't know what rules they're playing by, now."

"I know. You be careful, too. They could be coming after you, too."

Wesley pressed his lips together. She was entirely right, of course. Either one of them made extremely tempting targets. If the Ten Rings wanted to make it personal, they would go after Pepper. If they wanted to keep it about business, they would go after Wesley. He needed to be careful.

"What are you going to do?" Pepper continued.

"Sleep, first. It's…it's been a long day. You get some rest, too. Call me when you settle in for the night."

"Will do. Stay safe, James."

"You too."

It took a devastating amount of effort, but Wesley got to his feet. He stumbled into his bedroom, drew the blinds, then fell on the bed. His hands were clumsy as he pulled off his glasses, kicked off his shoes, and loosened his tie. He didn't even care that his left leg was on top of his overnight bag. In the morning he would leave, he would take all of the proper precautions and move somewhere safe. Now, he just needed to sleep.

* * *

Wesley allowed himself a few hours' sleep. It probably wasn't enough, but he rolled off his bed and started to get to work. He scrolled through the messages and voice mails on his phone as he picked out a fresh set of clothes.

Text from Pepper. _We're on the road. Text you when we reach the hotel._

Missed call from the acting head of Stark security.

Voice mail from his hotel and transport in Seattle.

Email from the director of the FBI.

Voice mail from a reporter at CNN.

Voice mail from a reporter at NPR.

Text from Pepper. _Checked into hotel in LA._

Voice mail from Tony.

Wesley froze, hand clenching around a new shirt. Then he was playing it, barely daring to breathe as he listened to Tony.

" _Hey, Wes, sorry for going AWOL. Things have been…crazy. I'm in Tennessee right now, suit's down, I'm barely scraping by. I met this kid who's a pain in the ass, but he's been helping me. There are some people after me…I dunno what they are. They're not terrorists, not like on the news. They're vets and they've been modified somehow. Aldrich Killian's behind it. I don't know all the details, but I'm piecing it together."_ There was a pause as Tony let out a slow sigh. He sounded ragged. " _It's been…I've been…guess it's a good thing I'm not really sleeping, lately, 'cuz I need to drive to Miami. Anyway, I'm taking care of things. Try and get in touch with Rhodey. Don't get lazy and fall off on your end. I need you to keep things okay over there, James. Watch out for Pepper."_

"Of course," he whispered. He set his phone down, mind springing ahead as he undressed.

Killian had people chasing Tony. So he was in league with the Mandarin. That was unsurprising; unscrupulous business men were getting into bed with terrorists and crime lords every day (when they weren't turning into them themselves). Why had Killian brought himself into the picture, though? His meeting with Pepper, that made no sense. If Wesley was helping to orchestrate a terrorist attack, he would have done it halfway across the world with as many competent people between him and the actual crime as possible (clearly, Killian needed a better fixer). What stake did Killian have in this brutal game?

Wesley had to keep Pepper safe. Sending her out alone was no good, not with such a local threat. Wesley needed to find her, he needed to find someone to protect her. Wesley felt fine on his own, he could handle himself in a firefight, but Pepper fought with words and iron will, not with fists and lead.

Wesley climbed into the shower and washed off. He needed to get on a plane. He needed to leave California and start looking into this. He could work on the private jet, but those were probably major targets for the Ten Rings. Which meant public transport. Wonderful. He would go to Seattle, he could use the arrangements he had set up for the day before. He'd need a new hotel under a different name, just to be safe, but Seattle was definitely the easiest choice…

He got dressed quickly, skipping his tie and belt in favor of his shoulder holsters. He scanned through his phone for the old travel information. He saw a newer message from Pepper, one that had come in during his shower. It didn't make sense at first, a flurry of typos making it hard to read. But as he re-read the message, his stomach tightened.

 _b e caredul may not safeshe workig wih Lillian an his herr._

 _Be careful Maya not safe she's working with Killian and he's here._

Pepper wasn't safe. Killian had Pepper. Wesley needed to get out of there.

He slung his overnight bag over his shoulder and forced his feet into his shoes. Wesley grabbed his keys from the counter as he stalked from the door. He was already calling SHIELD when he sailed out the door. Tony was relying on his help, even if it was only to call in bigger guns.

Gunshots tore through the hallway. Wesley dropped to the ground as bullets ripped through the air around him. He grabbed for the gun in his shoulder holster, firing off just enough shots to give him the cover he needed to get to the stairs.

He clenched his phone in his hand, the call forgotten as he took the stairs three at a time. Wesley vaulted down the stairwell as bullets screamed above his head. Two floors. He had to go down two more floors and then he was clear.

More shots pinged off the rails and walls around him, one hissing past his cheek. Wesley gasped as the metal burned his skin, flinching his face into his shoulder. He was supposed to be done with this. He was supposed to have left the guns and the thugs and the danger back in Hong Kong. He wasn't supposed to be running for his life in a stairwell because _terrorists_ had a vendetta against his boss.

Wesley braced himself and fired off another set of shots to his attackers. One tore through a man's shoulder, making him gasp in pain. And then it was like the wound was cauterizing itself, an ember-like burn spilling from the wound and up into the man's face. Wesley shoved himself down the last flight of steps, head spinning at the sight of the man's pupils lighting up with an unnatural glow.

He threw the empty gun aside and burst through the doors to the lobby, hands raised and face panicky as a host of armed guards faced him down.

" _There are men with guns in the stairwell!_ " he yelled, skittering out of their way like he was some innocent frightened bystander. The guards enveloped him, accepting Wesley as a fearful and well-paying tenant. Clearly, they hadn't noticed the second gun he still had in his shoulder holster.

Someone ordered Wesley outside and he obediently ran out to join the inhabitants of the freshly cleared lobby. People were scared, huddled together and trying not to break into hysteria. One of the guards inside shouted at the gunmen and then there was a slew of gunshots.

The crowd scattered, the false calm broken into terror and screams. Wesley ran with them, using the mess of bodies as cover to get to the parking garage. Wesley took the risk of using his own car, favoring convenience over the anonymity of a cab. Also, his car was bulletproof. Although, bullets seemed to be fairly low on his scale of worries. People with fire in their veins seemed a touch more pressing.

Wesley threw his bag into the passenger seat as he got in. He realized his phone was still clutched in his hand when he went to turn on the car.

"Sir? Sir, hello? Are you there?" Agent Hill was asking, using the forced calm he imagined 911 operators perfected.

"I'm here. I'm being chased," he said, tearing out of his parking space and roaring through the garage. If he hit one of the assholes trying to kill or capture him…well, honestly that would be very satisfying. Wesley had never pretended _not_ to be a spiteful son of a bitch.

"Are you safe?" she asked. Nothing ever seemed to throw her. Every time Wesley had spoken to her, she had been unimpressed and to the point. He could have kissed her for nonchalance.

"For the moment," he said, whipping onto the street.

"Who's chasing you?"

"I'm imagining someone working for the Ten Rings." He wove through traffic, trying to calm himself as he drove. He put the phone on speaker and took a deep breath. "Mr. Stark, Ms. Potts, and I have been targeted by their agents. I believe they have been provided by Aldrich Killian."

"Were they the ones responsible for the attack on Stark?" she asked, a harsh edge of strain in her voice.

"I believe so. He is alive and safe for the moment. He's driving to Miami from Tennessee. Ms. Potts, however, has been captured. I don't know how she is."

"I'll dispatch a team to investigate. Tell me about Aldrich Killian."

"He's a businessman without the grandeur of Mr. Stark. There isn't much on him personally, but his company prides itself on cutting edge technology bordering on fringe science."

"The men he sent after you, did they have any of this fringe science with them?"

"The men were modified in some way," Wesley said, taking a sharp corner to avoid a red light. "I managed to clip one in the shoulder and he healed instantly. It looked like he was on fire from the inside."

"I…see," she said. "Mr. Wesley, where are you right now?"

"I'm driving to the airport. I'm getting out of the city to somewhere safe."

"I'm sending a team to you. We need to make sure at least one of you is safe. Is there anyone else you think might be a target?"

"No, not on our staff. And you can send a team to me once I've landed."

"And where will _that_ be?"

"I'll tell you once I get off the ground. Send someone in to help Tony. He shouldn't have to deal with this alone," Wesley said, then hung up. He took the exit for Los Angeles, his nerves easing slightly as he sped up to join the highway traffic.

Hopefully SHIELD would be able to do something while he was traveling. In a few hours, Wesley would be safely tucked away in Seattle, and then he would be able to properly move heaven and earth to aid Tony. But for the moment he had to calm down and collect himself after being shot at.

Wesley took a moment to check the burn on his cheek. It wasn't too big, but the skin had turned an unhappy red. Hopefully that would fade. He glanced over his bag, scowling when he saw that there was a bullet hole in it. It _better_ not have damaged any of his clothes.

A sickening thought entered his head. He looked down at himself, then sucked in a breath.

Those fuckers had put _two_ bullet holes through the side of his favorite suit. There would be hell to pay.

* * *

Wesley only realized it was Christmas when the SHIELD agents greeted him at the airport. Between escaping Killian's men, flying to Seattle, and planning what he was supposed to do next, he had completely forgotten about the date. He blinked at the agent who spoke, trying to process the ' _Merry Christmas, sir'_ he had just received.

"Er—thank you. Merry Christmas. What arrangements has Agent Hill made?" he asked, resuming his brisk pace. The two agents fell into step behind him, the man answering his question while the woman was silent.

"She's approved your accommodations. There are no trails connecting you to Mr. Stark, so unless a tracker has been slipped onto you, you're safe."

"We can search for one after we leave the airport. Any word on Mr. Stark?"

"None. We are still searching for Ms. Potts and Maya Hansen."

"Right. What are your names?"

"Agent Cassani. This is Agent Jeong," the man said, gesturing at himself, then the woman behind them. "Agent Pike is with the car."

"Am I correct in assuming you will be with me until we reach the other side of this?" Wesley asked, allowing Cassani to direct him to the parking garage.

"Yes, sir. We have the adjoining room with you in the hotel. I must insist that one of us—"

"If you need to stay in the same room as me, fine, we'll open the door or something," Wesley said, waving his hand. "I don't plan on the leaving the room."

"Concerned about your safety?" Cassani gave him an appraising look as he pressed the button for the elevator.

"I'm concerned about Mr. Stark's," Wesley said, not looking at him. "I need to use every second I have to help him."

"Understood. Your electronics will have to be checked for bugs, but there should be no issues."

"Good."

Wesley kept his eyes forward as he walked to the car, the reassurance of a job to do and two SHIELD agents at his back. Things would be fine. He would help Tony however he could and make things as difficult for Killian as possible.

Things would be fine.

* * *

For once, things actually turned out as well as Wesley hoped. While Wesley had been furiously making calls and sending emails and menacing and pleading and wrangling things into order from his end, Tony had been fighting for his life against mutants with an army of sentient armor. It sounded ridiculous. It sounded terrifying. It sounded like a headache.

As reports of the battle flooded in, Wesley quickly adjusted his attack plan to absorb the damage. He arranged political statements, cleanup crew, philanthropy groups, anything to help mop up the mess. The SHIELD agents largely left him alone, though they did keep him apprised of their own efforts to help Tony, and even leaned on various government groups for information. In general, though, they seemed amazed at the brutal efficiency shown by one man and the AI he had installed on his phone.

And then, a little later, he got a call from Tony.

"Hey," Tony said. He sounded exhausted.

"Everything go well, I hope?" Wesley asked, finally relaxing into the chair he'd made his center of operations. Agent Cassani raised an eyebrow and mouthed ' _That Stark?'_ Wesley nodded, making the man smile and go for his own phone.

"Yeah, I guess. All my suits are gone, though, so…"

"And that was…roughly fifty?" Wesley asked, fishing through his brain for the number JARVIS had given up a few hours ago.

"Yeah. Well, it's only a few billion down the drain. What's it matter to a mogul like me, right?"

"Is that all the damage, though?"

Tony was quiet for a few minutes, then said, "Killian turned Pepper into whatever he and those soldiers were. She's still her, still my old Pep, but…I dunno. More Extremis-y."

Wesley held his breath for a long second. That sounded…not great.

"Is it reversible?"

"Yeah, sure, totally. It's gotta be."

Wesley nodded. The fear and doubt in Tony's voice was so, so obvious. "We'll put all efforts into helping her. You've done more with less."

"Yeah," Tony said. He let out a slow sigh, then forced his voice back to its usual flippancy. "Anyway, we got the President secured, Killian and all the Extremis soldiers are dead. Oh, and put Roxxon on our watch list, in case they try to come back and screw me later."

"Why?" Wesley asked, sitting up straighter. Roxxon was one of the biggest conglomerations on the planet. They were _not_ someone to take lightly.

"Oh, no reason, just a little mishap with one of their mistakes. It should be nothing, but precautions, y'know? Don't want them saying I gave them bad press because of the whole _Norco_ SNAFU."

"The oil rigger…?"

"Yeah, just something to keep an eye on."

Wesley shook his head and sat back again. "Certainly, I'll add it to the list."

"Alright, thanks buddy."

"Before I forget, I have the information for the architect that made the mansion. He's in retirement now, but if you want any changes done to it, I can convince him to redesign it."

"Y'know what? I think we'll just leave it be."

"Fair enough, I'll contact a construction crew first thing in the—"

"Not like that, Wesley. I'm tired of Malibu. It…I dunno, call it enabling an addiction. I'm starting fresh, everything's a do over. We're gonna make this whole thing work right."

"So you're…moving?"

"Yeah. I've got a few hundred stories of the Tower I could use up, and honestly California's really just not doing it for me anymore. I want something a bit spicier."

"So you're going to New York," Wesley said, utterly failing to muzzle his distaste. "Which means _I'll_ be moving to New York."

"You don't have to. You'll only be a phone call away."

Wesley rolled his eyes and didn't even deign to respond.

"Anyways, yeah, I think New York's the place I need to be."

"In that case, do you mind if I spend a few extra days here in Seattle? I need to fully prepare myself before dedicating myself to…Manhattan."

Tony broke into a full on laugh as Wesley said the word, the first genuine sound of amusement he'd given in a long time. Since the Avengers formed, probably.

"Yeah, sure thing, detox yourself as much as you need. I need you sharp for when we get back to work."

"And what will that be? Reconstructing the suits Killian destroyed?"

"Hm? Nah, I torched those. Christmas gift to Pepper. I mean, I'll have to make one for me, and then one for Rhodey, too, but I'm thinking right now we could get into something a little less life-in-crisis-y. Maybe get around to building SHIELD some new engines for their helicarriers or something, 'cuz the ones they have now suck."

"Do they? How do you know that?"

"Oh, I, uh, got a personal tour back in May. Anyways, gotta go. Our rides kinda blew up, so we've all gotta get to steppin' if we're gonna make it to New York before we die of old age. Pepper sends her love. I'm guessing Rhodey does too, but he's busy moping over not getting a selfie with the president."

" _No I'm not, don't tell him lies like that,_ " Rhodey said, voice muted on the other end of the phone.

"Yeah, yeah. See you soon, James. Get some rest, you probably need it. And Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas, sir."


	5. conspiracy

_AN I love this chapter. I love all the chapters, but this one truly feels like Wesley is part of the larger MCU, now. The possibilities are endless and so are my tears at them not having happened._

 _and look, AoU doesn't even exist in this universe it's not gonna happen everyone can take a neato vacation in the bahamas instead._

* * *

" _Dammit!_ Wesley— _Wesley get down here!"_

Wesley blinked into his phone, shocked that Tony had already hung up. He was in his suite in Stark Tower (he _despised_ living in New York, but at least he didn't have to pay ghastly prices for some horrible condo with questionable decorating policies), and had just settled in for a quiet lunch. Wesley got up, closing down the article about the shootout in DC the day before. The world had been becoming more and more insane lately, with everything from 'dark elves' destroying London to random vigilantes popping up on the street of New York. It was horrible, but it was almost a little relieving to see an old fashioned police chase through a major city taking the headline.

"What's happening?" he asked JARVIS, skin prickling as he played back Tony's frantic demand. He had sounded edgy in a way Wesley honestly didn't remember hearing before.

" _I…feel that it would be best for him to tell you, sir. He's in his workshop,"_ JARVIS said. He sounded hesitant, unhappy but unwilling to explain. Wesley looked up at the speakers in the hall, step catching. He pursed his lips and hurried to the elevator.

Things had balanced out since Killian and AIM. Tony had found proper counseling for his aggressive PTSD, and had sorted out the problems between him and Pepper. He had also decided on a membership with the Avengers, taking things so far as to move to New York. He claimed it was to be more available, but Wesley suspected Tony's motives were to always ensure there was some form of protection for his makeshift little family.

Tony had even offered the tower as a sort of rest stop for the rest of the Avengers, though thankfully they recognized it was a halfway point rather than a superhero hostel. Wesley had by now met and created a mental file for all of the Avengers. Bruce Banner was a frequent guest, awkward but polite every time he appeared. Natasha dropped by without announcing herself, often with an offbeat, sarcastic Clint Barton in tow (Wesley didn't know if she made a point of speaking to him because she enjoyed reminding him that she had managed to trick him, or if she genuinely enjoyed speaking with him. His own opinions on her had yet to fully formulate). Steve Rogers was every bit as bold as in the legends, though he had a penchant for daredevilry and a shockingly filthy mouth (the army, it seemed, was no more mild in the 40s). Even Thor had appeared once or twice, though Wesley personally found him a bit loud and a little too friendly.

Had Tony called any of them, yet? What kind of crisis was this; one that needed a lawyer or one that needed an Avenger?

Wesley stepped out of the elevator, jaw hurting from clenching it the entire five story ride. This floor was dominated by an expanded version of Tony's Malibu workshop. Different mechanical stations spread against the walls, with a small kitchen and bathroom nestled off to the side. Normally, things were quite orderly. Now it looked like there had been a mini explosion.

Tony was working frantically, fiddling with something on a worktable. He kept jumping between things like he couldn't decide what needed to be done, picking up tools, pushing aside blueprints, expanding and shrinking holographs above his desk.

"Mr. Stark?" Wesley asked. He edged a little closer, dread tightening his stomach.

Tony snapped his head up, a tense look of relief on his face. He jumped to his feet, almost sending the contraption on his lap to the floor. "Wesley! Good! I need your help, you gotta tell me what I can—all the suits are _gone,_ I barely even have _pieces_ left—"

"Sir, _sir,_ what's going on?" Wesley asked, cutting over Tony's babbling. He raised his hands, a gesture that both signaled peace and tried to push Tony's panic to the floor.

Tony whirled back to his desk, hands grabbing up the machine—gauntlet?—he had set aside. "Did you see the news?"

"Yes, why—"

"It just happened, I just found out this morning. I should have checked sooner, I've had it for _years—_ "

" _Sir,_ " Wesley said, almost yelling over Tony. "Stop. Tell me what's happening."

Tony braced his hands against his desk. He let out a breath, deflating slightly. Wesley finally noticed Dum-E and one of Tony's newer robots in the corner, welding something together. It looked like the skeleton of a new suit.

"When…when I was called in to help the Avengers against Loki, I hacked SHIELD," Tony began. His voice was eerily low, dropping in pitch like he couldn't drag up the energy to speak normally. "But after everything happened, I didn't get to look at the files. I tucked them away for a rainy day. Then—then there was the not sleeping, making all of the new suits, AIM, Pepper…I just forgot. Forgot I had it. Then I found it a while back and decided to flip through. I've been working on it for a while, sorting through everything for a couple of weeks whenever I had time. It didn't seem like much, not yet, not until I looked deeper and—Wesley, we've had it all wrong."

"Mr. Stark, I don't—"

Tony turned back around, and the hopelessness in his expression made Wesley's stomach drop away completely.

"HYDRA," he whispered. "Somehow, HYDRA…they've grown inside SHIELD. I didn't understand it at first, but…it just…it's all HYDRA."

"HYDRA?" Wesley asked. His mouth suddenly felt dry. "I don't understand."

"From what I read, it was part of Operation Paperclip. Y'know, where they brought Nazi scientists to help build bombs to kill the commies." Tony tried to force a smile as he spoke. He looked ill. "Some of them were HYDRA. And then…they laid down roots where no one was looking."

"So what can we do? Why did you call me, why didn't you call Fury? Do you think he's a part of it?"

"I don't know. I don't think so? I don't know." Tony sat down, placing his head in his hands. "Some key players in SHIELD definitely are. I don't even know how many people— _shit,_ I _worked_ with these people. And they—I still can't—"

"What about the Captain?" Wesley asked. He had to prioritize, he had to keep himself in check. His job was to handle the catastrophes, and this…this was the biggest one yet. "Does he know?"

"I can't reach him," Tony said. His eyes looked dead. "Him and Natasha, they're the ones on the ground in DC but I can't find them. Fury's dead, the rest of the Avengers are _hell_ knows where, and I can't make one damn suit _fast_ enough."

"Hold on, hold on," Wesley said, raising his hands. "We know now, we can make a plan. They don't know about us, right?"

"Not that we know, no."

"So there's no need to panic," Wesley said. Even as the words left his mouth, he knew that wasn't true. Tony wasn't a man to shut down in a crisis. There had to be something else, something that had happened to—

"Did you see the news today?" Tony repeated.

"Yes, I was just reading it."

"The shooting. In DC."

Wesley tightened his hands into fists, the pieces clicking together even as Tony spoke.

"Right in the middle of the road. Everyone thought it was a madman being pursued by the police, but they were all just hitmen in cop cars."

"Who were they chasing?"

Tony shook his head. "Nick Fury."

Wesley sucked in a breath. "How do you know this? Did someone contact you, or-"

"I hacked SHIELD again," Tony said. There was no passion in the words. "I was waiting on the suit and some of the things I was reading didn't make sense, so I got into the system again."

"The hitmen, did they…?"

"No, he escaped. But last night—last night a sniper caught him. He was at Rogers' place, and when they got him to the hospital…he died on the table. Here," he whispered, waving his hand through one of the holographs. The file dragged down to reveal another one. It was a file on a single person, Wesley assumed, a lethal, grizzled looking soldier with long hair and a metal arm. "This was the assassin they sent after him. He's all over the HYDRA files, the big guns for big problems. Fury...he didn't have a chance."

Wesley flicked through the page, stomach tightening. This couldn't be true. No...this couldn't be true. Aliens and mutants, fine, but this... Brainwashing, freezing, and then _mind wiping_ a man for seventy years? All so he could be the world's best assassin? Wesley wasn't actually _surprised,_ but still. It felt too barbaric for words. The most alarming part, though, were Howard and Maria Stark's pictures at the bottom.

Wesley froze, then made himself read the lines around their pictures. His stomach flipped at the words _opposition_ and _threat_ and _terminated_ _._

He locked his knees, forcing himself to stand straight. So the car crash that had killed Tony's parents had been orchestrated. By HYDRA. Which was still very well and alive. And they had killed Fury. And the only people who knew for sure were him and Tony.

"And you think—"

"They're cleaning shop. Something happened, someone's figured out there's a leak and I can't _help_!" Tony slammed his hand on the desk as his spoke, all of his pent up terror and guilt and anger breaking through. "I can't help them, James! This isn't something I can half-ass my way through like last time! This is one of the strongest policing forces on _earth,_ I can't go against them with a few homemade trinkets and some determination! Tell me what I can do, tell me there's _something_ I can do."

Wesley looked him in the face. He had been with Tony for nine years, and he had _always_ told him the truth. It had never been an official policy, simply something that happened. Wesley handed out lies for a living, spinning things in whatever direction was needed. Even previous employers hadn't been spared his gossamer deceptions, accepting that the truth wasn't the most important thing in a successful business partnership. But with Tony…every time Wesley considered a lie, he found himself telling the truth. More than anything, Tony deserved the truth. And now, even though he was _begging_ Wesley to lie and say things would be fine, Wesley knew he could not.

"You can't take SHIELD, _or_ HYDRA, on by yourself."

"If Killian hadn't—"

"Tony. You couldn't do it even with all your suits. This isn't something _one person_ can fix."

" _Then what's the point of being Iron Man?!"_ he yelled, throwing the gauntlet across the room. It crashed into a shelf and landed on the floor. The hollow, devastating bangs made the room feel sickly empty. Even that didn't have anywhere near the intended effect.

"This is beyond _anyone._ "

"I promise you Rogers is out there right now, fighting tooth and nail," Tony grumbled. He dropped into a chair and ran a hand over his face. "If there's air in his lungs, he will be fighting this. That's got to be why he's off the grid, there's no way he and Natasha...that's got to be it."

Wesley took in a breath and didn't let himself dwell on the possibility that HYDRA had finally killed Captain America.

"I'm sure there _is_ something you can do. Attacking HYDRA outright is too risky, you know that."

"…Yeah," Tony admitted.

"If we out them, if there's some weak point to find, we'll find it. But if they're in SHIELD, they have to be in everything else. Every major organization that's come into contact with either Germany or America in the last eighty years…" Wesley worked his jaw. He hated saying it. "You can't trust them."

Tony tossed him a look, a twisted smile on his face. "Yeah? And where's that leave you?"

Wesley laughed and shook his head. "I'm freelance. I go up for auction and then I'm loyal to the highest bidder."

"And after?"

Wesley gave Tony a long look. The smile was gone from his face when he spoke. "I'm with you until the day I die, Tony. You know that has nothing to do with a paycheck."

Tony squeezed out a smile that was almost genuine. He mouthed ' _thank you',_ like maybe he was too tired to make his voice work properly. He glanced away, eyes settling on the holographic file he had pulled up for Wesley. His eyes looked distant, even as he focused on the clean cut face of James Barnes. He looked older the longer he stared.

"It's a messed up world we live in," he whispered. "Best friend of Captain America sent to do Russia's dirty work. That's not even something you can blame on heroes changing things. That's just politics."

Wesley looked at the ground. There wasn't much more he could say to that.

"He killed my mom," Tony whispered, voice breaking ever so slightly.

Wesley watched him, then sat down on the edge of the desk. Neither one of them said anything as he put a hand on Tony's shoulder. There wasn't much _to_ say, or even _do,_ for that matter. This was just a waiting game, plain and simple. And even though they both weren't exactly _good_ at waiting, at least they didn't have to do it alone.


	6. self-sufficiency

_AN YES THIS STILL EXISTS I'VE JUST BEEN IN DENIAL AND NOT WANTING TO LET ANY OF IT GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO._

 _Seriously, I love love love this AU and I want it to exist for eons to come and I'm mad that I don't have any other decent story or even scene ideas to keep this going. All of this has been a gross self-indulgence, but I'm not even sorry because I love this grumpy, battle hardened fam._

 _(seriously if any of y'all just wanna talk about this universe (or the many little references to the rest of the mcu and how things play out there)...please. please come talk to me.)_

 _Thank you everyone for your support, and please enjoy the last chapter of_ you wouldn't know (but i've been in the dark).

* * *

 **\+ i.**

Wesley liked working for Tony. It was perhaps one of the few things he was really, truly proud of. But it had become painfully obvious that Iron Man didn't need a fixer any more. He needed SHIELD and the Avengers. His crises no longer involved him publicly embarrassing himself, but rather publicly saving the world. In the last couple of years, all the major problems in Tony's life had Wesley barely on the edges. He hadn't been able to keep Tony from being kidnapped by the Ten Rings, hadn't been able to save Tony from blood poisoning, couldn't stop aliens or mutant terrorist attacks or a government conspiracy. He had sat on the side, gritting his teeth and hating the fact that he had been _useless._

Sure, he had helped smooth a few things. Sure, he had been a shoulder to lean on when things got bad. Other than that…Wesley was just another person collecting an unearned paycheck. Wesley no longer belonged in Tony Stark's world. He dealt with people, not gods and legends.

Tony looked surprised when Wesley handed him his resignation. The shock in his face made Wesley want to laugh. Or yell. Tony could be so _oblivious_ sometimes.

"Wes…what is this?" he asked, staring at the paper.

Wesley sighed through his nose. "My resignation. It's come to my attention that I am no longer a proper fit for your needs."

"But you can't just _quit._ I mean, you're part of the team." Tony set the resignation down on his desk, like it would stop mattering if he couldn't see it.

"In the last week, the only thing I've needed to do was draft a statement to the Defense Department about why you refuse to make droids of the Iron Man suit."

"Which is important! Who's going to keep Uncle Sam from hounding me into bad decisions?" Tony asked.

"You managed before."

"With half of Stark Industries' legal team. But you've replaced them all. Don't make me have to memorize ten new names."

Wesley forced out a smile and stepped back. "I think I'm a little over-qualified for a job that has me doing one errand a week."

Tony fell still, eyebrows furrowed as he watched Wesley. His jaw worked like he was chewing on his cheek. When he spoke, his voice hitched. "Is this…this something I've done?"

Wesley shook his head. "No, sir. It's not your fault."

"Then why—" He let out a tight breath. "James, I thought you were happy."

Wesley looked away. Happy had always been a relative term. So long as things were working properly, so long as he did his job, he was satisfied. That was all he had ever needed.

"This is worse than when Happy left," Tony said. He tried to make himself smile, but he was less successful than Wesley. "You know, at least he was still _here._ But you…you're going for bigger fish, right?"

"I don't think I'll ever find bigger," Wesley said. "I think downsizing might actually be better."

Tony watched him a long moment, the uncertain hurt in his eyes so apparent that it made Wesley's chest hurt. Then it was gone with a nod and a shrug.

"Alright. If that's—y'know, if that's what you want, then fine. Greener pastures, right? Go save some oil tycoon from a lawsuit. Go talk to…" Tony hesitated, blinking. "I actually have no idea who you'd talk to about quitting. You were always the guy I directed people to."

Wesley forced out a smile. "Allison in HR, sir."

"Allison, right, right. The one with the pugs."

"Yes. I'll talk to her on my way out."

Tony nodded, eyes on his desk. He picked at the corner as he spoke. "You…have a job lined up already? Or are you sticking your toes in to see what bites?"

"I'm sure I can rustle something up."

"Yeah, sure. Sure. We're good, right?" Tony asked, glancing up at him. "You're not gonna cross the street to keep from passing me on the sidewalk or anything, right?"

"Of course not, sir. I'll still come to whatever gala I'm invited to."

"Good. 'Cause Pep won't let me be mean to people when I'm with her, and Rhodey hates black tie parties, so you'd really be saving me from having to be nice all night."

"I'm sure you'll make it through," Wesley said, backing out of the room as he spoke. He tried not think about how it felt suspiciously like running away. He also tried not to think about how he had _never_ slunk out of a conversation with Tony before.

* * *

It was kind of funny, leaving Stark Tower. None of the big, life changing events had managed to push Wesley away. If anything, it made him want to cling to it harder. But the little things, the days and then weeks going by of _nothing…_ that was what made him go.

He didn't try to look on the bright side. He didn't focus on how happy he was to finally leave New York. He didn't think about how he was able to return to something simple, like corporate espionage or illegitimate heirs. He didn't think about much, really.

He returned to Seattle. He visited his mother and told her that he had left Tony, and reassured her that he had _plenty_ to live on until he found another job (several million, in fact. Tony was a generous employer and Wesley had _quite_ the eye for the stock market). He watched the news in the morning, ignoring the updates on the remaining fallout of HYDRA, the alleged devil taking up residence in Manhattan, and people developing new, strange powers all across North America. He was interviewed by corporate titans and spoiled rich kids, hating the slimy arrogance they displayed at the thought of getting away with anything.

He signed on with the middle son of a billionaire that had too much money and too much time and too few morals. It took all of one month of employment for Wesley to quietly tip off the FBI when asked to cover up said middle son's exploits with sex trafficking. The day before the arrest, Wesley also had to endure having a convenient blow out with The Girlfriend in order to cover his tracks. Being fired left a smudge on his incandescent record, but Wesley infinitely preferred that to actually keeping that piece of shit from prison. Wesley didn't even mind that he had to lay a false trail indicating him working for some strange reclusive mogul in Taiwan (one just powerful, enigmatic, and dangerous enough to protect him from prying eyes) to prevent Middle Son from begging Wesley's help in the trial.

It was something to do, at least.

Wesley tried not to feel bored in the meantime. This was what he wanted, after all. He despised being useless, and even if he was playing nanny, it was better than not being needed. Better than not holding his breath every time something went wrong that he could not fix. Better than quietly wondering if (when) Tony would put himself and his loved ones on the line and the best Wesley could do was be handle paperwork. Better than seeing this strange, new world pass him by.

Happy called him, once. It was a business question, something about the nuances of Stark legal. Wesley sighed and leaned against his marble kitchen counter, watching the rain fall as he answered. Happy thanked him, made a joke that actually made Wesley smile, then hesitated.

"It's not the same without you, y'know. We haven't _worked_ together for a couple of years, yeah, but it's not the same. _He_ notices the difference, though."

Wesley kept staring out the window. _Good,_ he wanted to say, _Tony had_ better.

But that was childish, and Wesley hadn't left to prove how important he was. He left because he _wasn't._

Pepper called as well. The first conversation was agonizingly awkward, enough so that Wesley actually took the liberty of screening her the next time she called until he was prepared for the ordeal of calling her back. It wasn't as bad as last time, but he couldn't stop the bittersweet nostalgia of her light-hearted complaints over Tony's antics.

"He still hasn't made drones," she said at one point, a smile in her voice. "He wanted me to tell you that."

Wesley pressed his lips together, thinking that honestly should have been something Tony said to him.

Wesley continued to distract himself as the weeks then months drizzled by. He clicked his tongue over increasingly strange reports; someone binding criminals with and swinging around Manhattan on… _webs?_ , some paramilitary group taking on the new powered people (Wesley _so_ disliked calling them 'mutants'), a tank veritably exploding out of the Pym Technologies Headquarters. Wesley raised an eyebrow at the last one, made a note to brief Tony on what that sort of damage might do to one of Stark Industries' main competitors, then turned away from the tv.

He didn't finish watching the program. He didn't tell Tony. He didn't climb into his expensive car and drive to an expensive job. He went to the shooting gallery and wasted a mountain of ammunition on targets.

Useless was _so_ much worse than not having a use at all. It had to be.

* * *

Wesley was actually surprised when he received an invitation to some charity ball in New York. More than that, it even had a tiny note on the inside written in Pepper's bubbly print.

 _We'd love to have you,_ it said. He scowled, first hating the idea of having to go to New York, then having to face Tony. But Tony (or possibly just Pepper) had asked, and Wesley had said he would go if invited.

He sighed and bought a ticket to New York.

The party, as expected, was glossy and infinitely tedious. He made small talk and charmed people and said that he was dabbling more in the private sector these days, and no, no, he and Tony had parted on the _best_ of terms. He complimented and charmed people one moment, dodged and eased out of drunken flirting the next. Nothing had ever changed.

He caught sight of Tony across the room. Wesley sipped his scotch, thinking that he _still_ hadn't gotten used to the lack of light coming from Tony's chest. Wesley turned back to the bar. It wasn't his job to watch Tony anymore.

That was probably why Tony was able to sneak up on him.

"You see that I managed to get the Star Spangled Dinosaur in a tuxedo tonight?" he asked, slipping in beside Wesley without even a hello. He waved at the bartender for a drink, and Wesley opened his mouth to delicately point out that functioning alcoholics were only charming in crime noirs, then closed his mouth. That was _not_ his job anymore.

Instead, Wesley raised an eyebrow at his glass. "You actually managed to get Captain Rogers here? I thought he was allergic to parties."

"Yeah, well, he's found that socialites are terrible historians, and he can literally tell them _anything_ about World War II and they'll believe him."

Wesley cracked a smile, imagining Steve's wickedly wry sense of humor set loose on a horde of one percenters.

"I'm glad you came," Tony said after a pause. "Didn't think you'd show up."

"I _do_ hate New York," Wesley conceded.

Now it was Tony's turn to flash a quick grin, glancing at Wesley like he could barely believe he was allowed to be part of the joke. He rolled his glass between his hands, leaving a tiny ring of water on the bar. Wesley didn't say anything to allay his nerves.

"It's been kinda quiet here. Toyed with some ideas, suits, you know, but nothing's really grabbed me," Tony continued. "What've you been doing?"

"Persecuting slavers."

Tony barked out a laugh. Wesley appreciated that Tony didn't actually dismiss it as a joke.

"Pepper looks nice," Wesley said, glancing over his shoulder. Pepper was wearing a beautiful green dress, her expression bright as she spoke to some British beef magnate. Wesley smiled when he saw it had a back, remembering the last time he, Tony, and Pepper had all been at one of these disastrous parties. Hopefully tonight would end better than Tony flying off to fight terrorists.

"Yeah, it was a Christmas present to herself," Tony said. Wesley fought not to raise another eyebrow as Tony started up a panic-induced ramble. "I mean, it had my name on it, I guess, which was probably pretty awkward after she wrapped it up, but whatever, she was the one that bought it. I was just the money bags. Usually she's self-sufficient—it's not like _she_ doesn't have the cash, but it's the thought, right?—but the moment you get Gucci on the line—look, you wanna get out of here?"

"Excuse me?" Wesley looked at Tony, vindictively satisfied that he was now allowed to pretend to not understand exactly what Tony was asking. Or maybe he was just pleased his professionalism no longer prohibited him from being an ass.

"C'mon, Wes. I can't handle this crowd anymore, I'm literally gonna break into hives in two seconds. Let's go find an EpiPen and talk or something."

"Or something," Wesley repeated, but he set down his drink and walked with Tony.

He didn't know what Tony was going to do. He doubted he had _ever_ known what Tony would do, but Wesley was especially aware of it now. It had only been a few months since they'd been apart, and yet Tony seemed like a different animal, now. More worried, more exhausted. More genuinely confident in what he did, not putting on a show and hiding behind beautiful women and booze.

Tony led Wesley into some side room that was probably used as overflow for the main ballroom. Wesley admired the paintings on the walls (at least two were clever reproductions, as he personally knew the originals were in vaults at the Louvre) as he waited for Tony to talk.

To his surprise, Tony was quiet. He frowned at Wesley, chewing his cheek as he fought for something to say.

"You got a haircut," he said.

Wesley looked at him. Tony was blessed with many skills, but he was shit at broaching uncomfortable subjects. Which was probably why he had hired Wesley. Wesley quickly shut that line of thought, as it begged what Tony had done since he'd been gone.

"Yes," he said curtly. "I had it tightened up in the back."

"It looks good," Tony said. "Very sharp. Sharp suits you."

Wesley sighed through his nose and cut Tony off before it became anymore awkward for either one of them. "Mr. Stark, might I ask what you wanted to talk about?"

Tony shrugged and started walking the length of the room. He ran his fingers over a shelf of books, not looking at Wesley when he spoke.

"I just…it's been weird, not having you. You used to always be _there._ Not literally at my side, but always just a call away. Kinda like JARVIS, y'know? Always there."

"One could argue I _was_ still a call away, considering I went to Seattle, rather than the Bermuda Triangle," Wesley said dryly. Tony flashed another smile, though this one seemed more forced than the last. Wesley pursed his lips, deciding that maybe he was being a little _too_ sardonic.

"I just—" Tony began again, then sighed. He faced Wesley, expression slightly crumpled. "It wasn't me, right? I know you said it wasn't me, but I keep going through it in my head and I just don't understand why you'd—I mean, I treated you okay, right? Not the best, I know that, it was kind touch and go there for a while with the palladium poisoning and trauma and charging off to fight terrorists on my own, but I fixed all that! That's not an issue anymore, but it was never enough to make you leave before but _now—_ " Tony stared at him for a long moment, brows furrowed like Wesley was a complex problem he couldn't figure out. "Now you've gone and I don't understand why."

Wesley sighed again. Now it was his turn to glance away, buy himself time, figure out why this _hurt_ so much.

"Mr. Stark…Tony, this was never because of your behavior. I told you, I am now…obsolete in this world of yours."

"I don't believe that. Are you even _happy,_ doing…whatever?"

Wesley gave him a flat look. "You're dealing with things I cannot handle. I am meant to _handle_ things. I've told you that time and again. I'm supposed to be the one to fix things. But now you have _the Avengers_ , and—"

"James, don't tell me you actually think _we_ can solve the world's problems," Tony laughed. He sounded almost injured. "I've still got countless governments up my ass because I'm 'the public figure of the team' and they hate us jumping in everywhere to fight HYDRA, I'm still barely sleeping anymore, Pep's honestly freaking out about how big this has all gotten, and last week we went to some middle of nowhere town in the Balkans and there were spray painted signs everywhere calling us _fascists_ like we're fucking Mussolini _,_ and I just—"

Tony dug his knuckles into his forehead, mouth twisting for the briefest moment. Wesley sucked in a breath, almost having forgotten what Tony looked like when he was beaten down. Even with an entire room between them, it felt like a kick in Wesley's chest.

Then it was gone, Tony put his hand down and the pain and frustration on his face was nothing more than mild exhaustion.

"I just want to be able to go home and know that I've got somebody in my corner making sure I don't make a mess of things. Honestly, a part of me is genuinely considering that drone thing, if only because I _cannot_ be pulled in any more directions than I already am."

Wesley didn't let himself look away. "But I can't just be ' _somebody in your corner',_ Tony."

"Why _not?_ " Tony demanded, sounding petulant and desperate and hurt. "You were before, and that just fine!"

"I'm not a security blanket you keep around for when things get tough."

"That's not—why are you _so_ determined to stay away?" he asked, voice rising a little more. He wasn't angry, just tired and upset and so, so confused. Wesley grit his teeth. He was supposed to _fix_ problems, not make bigger ones.

"What was my purpose to you?" he asked, knowing he was yet again dodging Tony's question and knowing he didn't care. They had come perilously close to the heart of the matter, those messy emotions that Wesley fought so hard to hide away. It was petty and obvious, but he slung out the first accusation he could think of to keep Tony from seeing how close he was to breaking. "What good was I to you? Most of the time, it seemed like I was an obstacle to get around. You kept me in the dark and you didn't listen to the advice I had to give you. What was the purpose in employing me? What did I do?"

"You helped me," Tony said quietly, instantly seeing through Wesley's accusations. "You always helped me."

When he put it that way, it made Wesley feel like one selfish son of a bitch.

"I would have fought for you," Tony said. He stared at the wall, fingers twitching at his side like he needed a channel for the tense energy inside him. "If I thought you wanted to stay, I would have fought. I just never—you never gave any signs of not wanting to be there, so I didn't—"

Wesley looked up at the ceiling. He'd never expected this conversation to be _quite_ so painful.

"Are you happy now?" Tony asked again.

Wesley's mouth twisted, fighting to keep words from escaping. But then it was out, exposing the lie Wesley had been fighting to believe for too long.

"No."

To be fair, it wasn't exactly surprising. Wesley hadn't ever lied to Tony before. There was no reason he would be able to now.

Thankfully, Tony didn't step on the moment by cracking another joke or leaping to the arrogant conclusion that Wesley would immediately come back. He inched a little closer, stunningly vulnerable in his million dollar tuxedo.

"Please come back, James. I don't know what it is you need at the moment, but I promise I'll find it. Just come back. I don't have a ton of friends right now, and I would just like to keep the ones I have."

Wesley broke into a bittersweet smile. "I didn't realize we were friends."

Tony actually laughed at that. "We've been together for nine years. I honestly don't know why else you would've stayed that long. It _can't_ be for the money."

Wesley scoffed and stared up at the ceiling. Tony wasn't wrong about that.

"Seriously, Wesley. I need you. I have no idea how you handled everything. The world's getting smaller but the people are getting bigger and right now everything's coming down on top of me, and I…I need your help. Please."

Wesley closed his eyes, then looked at Tony. He smiled again, and it was exhausted and uncertain but this time he meant every bit of it. "Of course you do. But if I come back, I _have_ to be—"

"My first call, I know, I know." Tony grinned at Wesley, looking relieved enough to cry. He grabbed Wesley's hand into a firm shake, clapping his shoulder with his other hand. He stared into Wesley's face for a long moment, pouring all of the gratitude he couldn't express into the look. "I _have_ been listening the last few years. At least a little bit."

"It's more than I expected," Wesley said, falling into step with Tony as they left the room.


End file.
